Rod's  Salvation 


STORIES   BY 

ANNIE  ELIOT  TRUMBULL 
* 

A  CHRISTMAS  ACCIDENT  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.  i6mo.  Cloth ....  $1.00 

ROD'S  SALVATION  AND  OTHER  STO 
RIES.  i6mo.  Cloth i.  oo 

A  CAPE  COD  WEEK.     i6mo.     Cloth    i.oo 

* 

A.  S.  BARNES  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS, 
New  York. 


"  ILLUMINATED   ONLY   BY  THE   UPWARD   FLASH   OF  THE 
LANTERN   " 


Rod's  Salvation 

By 

Annie  Eliot  Trumbull 

Author  of  "  A  Christmas  Accident  and 
Other  Stories  " 

With  full-page  Illustrations  by 
Charles  Copeland 


New  York 

A.  S.  Barnes  and  Company 
1898 


T5 


TlS 

Kir 


Copyright,  1898, 
BY  A.  S.  BARNES  AND  COMPANY. 


SHtttbmttg  $w»s: 
JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


MY  acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  Editors  of 
the  Atlantic  Monthly  and  Scribner  s  Magazine  for 
permission  to  reprint  the  first  three  stories  of  this 
volume. 

A.  E.  T. 


Contents 

Page 
ROD'S  SALVATION i 

DECLINE  AND  FALL 102 

UNEFFECTUAL  FIRE 168 

THE  CHEVALIER  SAINT  AGAR  ....     241 


Illustrations 

Page 

"  Illuminated    only  by  the  upward   flash   of 

the  lantern" Frontispiece 

"  Why  not  a  dryad  ?" 148 

" They  had  wandered " 196 

"Bending  forward,  she  read  " 273 


Rod's   Salvation 


"W 


ELL,  she  ain't  shipped 
for  it  yet,  I  reckon,"  said 
Captain  Case,  with  a  touch  of 
irony,  as  he  removed  the  pipe  from 
his  mouth  and  leaned  back  in  his 
stiff  chair. 
The  tobacco  smoke  was  thick  in  the 
low  room,  and  unpractised  eyes  might  not 
readily  have  discerned  the  owner  of  a  voice 
which  came  in  response  from  the  further 
corner;  but  there  was  no  such  doubt  in 
the  minds  of  the  few  silent  listeners  who 
sat  gravely  about,  one  tipped  back  against 
the  window-casing,  two  others  leaning  on 
the  deal  table.  They  recognized  Captain 
Small. 

"  Well,  no,"  said   the  voice,  "  I   don't 
know  as  she  's  shipped  for  it,  and  I  don't 
say  as  she  's  going  to  ;  but  I  do  say  that 
i  i 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Glad  to  see  you  at  the  Club,  cap'n," 
said  one  of  the  men  at  the  table,  with  a 
smile  and  a  nod.  "  You  don't  get  down 
as  often  as  you  used  to." 

"  That 's  a  fact,  —  that 's  a  fact,"  an 
swered  Captain  Wheelock  genially.  u  I 
don't  cruise  round  evenings  as  much  as  I 
did." 

"  There  ain't  as  much  to  talk  about 
nowadays,"  suggested  Captain  Case,  with 
an  elaborate  wink  addressed  to  the  com 
pany  in  general.  "Whalin'  ain't  what  it 
was." 

Captain  Wheelock  joined  in  the  good- 
humored  laugh  at  his  expense. 

"  Well,  no,  it  ain't,"  he  affirmed  regret 
fully  ;  "  really  it  ain't." 

Then  there  fell  a  silence  upon  the  com 
pany.  The  old  whaling  captain's  entrance 
had  been  an  interruption,  albeit  no  unwel 
come  one,  and  there  was  felt  a  certain 
delicacy  about  taking  up  the  thread  of 
conversation  just  where  it  had  been  broken 
off.  The  pause,  however,  was  by  no 
4 


Rod's  Salvation 

means  one  of  embarrassment  or  awkward 
ness.  It  was  very  seldom  that  either  of 
these  annoyed  society  in  Seacove.  The 
most  polished  of  social  ornaments  might 
well  envy  the  charm  found  here,  in  a  gen 
uineness  and  simplicity  which  was  never 
disturbed  because  it  never  dreamed  of  in 
equality,  and  withal  an  absence  of  provin 
cial  narrowness  which  comes  from  the 
necessarily  wide  experience  of  those  who 
go  down  to  the  sea  in  ships. 

The  men  smoked ;  the  dim  kerosene 
lamp  flickered  and  grew  dimmer  in  the 
clouded  room.  It  was  a  lamp  plucky  as 
most,  but  it  had  a  good  deal  against  its 
success  in  life  this  evening.  The  windows 
rattled  now  and  then,  and  from  outside 
came  the  intermittent  soft  rush  of  the  surf 
on  the  sandy  beach.  Captain  Small,  with 
a  grave  deliberateness  which  intimated  to 
the  room  generally  that  he  saw  no  reason 
for  not  going  on  with  the  discussion,  broke 
the  silence. 

"  We  were  talking,  Cap'n  Wheelock," 
5 


Rod's  Salvation 

he  said,  "  as  you  came  in,  about  your  grand 
daughter  there." 

"  Were  you,  now  ?  "  said  the  old  man, 
with  friendly  interest.  It  was  no  unusual 
thing  to  discuss  here  the  personal  affairs  of 
the  Club  members.  It  was  rather  flatter 
ing  than  otherwise,  within  certain  bounds, 
which  were  never  transgressed  by  the 
courtesy  of  Seacove.  "  Fayal  's  a  good 
girl,"  he  added,  with  the  certainty  of  a 
friendly  response. 

"  There 's  nobody  here  said  anything 
against  that,  cap'n,"  and  a  man  who  had 
not  spoken  before  shook  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  and  looked  about  with  a  little  air 
of  defiance,  as  though  he  had  added,  "  And 
I  'd  like  to  see  the  landlubber  who  'd  dare 
say  it,  too."  No  one  felt  himself  aggrieved 
by  this  attitude  of  Captain  Sash.  In  the 
first  place,  their  consciences  were  clear ; 
and,  in  the  next,  Captain  Sash's  defiances 
were  well  understood.  He  was  a  small, 
sandy-haired  man,  with  the  proverbial 
anchor  tattooed  on  his  left  forearm,  a  defi- 
6 


Rod's   Salvation 

ciency  of  reliable  teeth,  and  the  best  heart 
in  the  world.  His  was  not  the  mould  to 
inspire  uneasiness,  and  so  much  the  better 
for  it,  but  he  looked  upon  himself  as  a 
figure  of  systematic  aggression. 

"  And  not  so  much  about  her,  either," 
went  on  Captain  Small,  after  varioHS  nods 
expressive  of  entire  assent  on  the  part  of 
the  company  to  the  previous  statements, 
"  as  about  that  young  Farnor  that 's  an 
chored  here  for  the  last  two  months,  and 
that 's  always  round  after  Fayal." 

"  I  don't  know  as  he  's  after  her,"  said 
Captain  Wheelock  slowly,  while  an  anxious 
expression  crossed  his  rugged  face. 

"  Well,  we  don't  think  he  '11  make  much 
headway,"  struck  in  Captain  Case,  "  as 
long  as  she  keeps  so  close  alongside  of 
Rod." 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  and  Captain  Wheelock's 
face  brightened  again.  "  I  guess  you  're 
right,  cap'n.  There  ain't  room  for  any 
other  vessel  in  that  port." 

"It  's  a  queer  thing,"  said  Captain  Small 
7 


Rod's  Salvation 

meditatively,  "  the  kind  of  thing  women  tie 
up  to." 

Captain  Small  was  credited  with  even 
more  than  the  sailor's  usual  devotion  to  the 
fair  sex,  —  a  circumstance  which  imparted 
a  shade  of  melancholy  to  his  general  obser 
vations  thereupon,  and  caused  them  to  be 
listened  to  with  great  respect.  "  So  it  is, 
cap'n,  so  it  is,"  assented  Captain  Sash. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  as  Rod  is  worth  it," 
asserted  Captain  Wheelock,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Fayal  's  a  good  girl,  and  I  don't 
say  Rod  's  worth  it." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  Rod's  mis 
demeanors  had  brought  his  name  into  this 
intimate  and  sympathetic  circle. 

"  What 's  he  doing  now,  Cap'n  Whee 
lock  ?  "  asked  one  of  the  more  silent  men, 
with  respectful  interest. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Captain  Whee 
lock  gloomily,  "  nothing,  —  or  else  mis 
chief." 

The  darkness  in  the  room  threatened  to 
become  inpenetrable.  The  stove  door  was 
8 


Rod's  Salvation 

bright  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  the  lamp  let 
its  discouragement  be  seen  and  began  to 
smoke.  Captain  Trent  set  his  chair  noisily 
on  four  legs,  and  turned  up  the  wick. 
The  increased  illumination  suggested  a 
change  in  the  tone  of  conversation,  which 
was  growing  depressed. 

"  That  P'arnor,  —  where  does  he  come 
from  ?  "  asked  Captain  Small. 

"  He  's  of  Seacove  extract,"  answered 
Captain  Case.  "  His  grandmother  was  a 
Wheelock,  kind  of  third  or  fourth  cousin 
of  the  cap'n's,  and  she  married  a  nothing 
that  came  down  here  from  the  inland,  and 
went  away  with  him.  This  is  the  first  one 
of  the  tribe  that's  come  back.  Ain't  that 
so,  cap'n  ?  " 

"  That 's  so." 

"  And  he  might  as  well  have  stayed 
away,  according  to  my  reckoning,"  went 
on  Captain  Case. 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  assented  Captain 
Wheelock  for  the  second  time.  Then  he 
roused  himself  from  what  threatened  to 
9 


Rod's  Salvation 

be  a  fit  of  abstraction.     "  What  that  boy 
needs,"   he  went  on  with  decision,  and  a 

glance  around  him  whose  little  touch  of 
self-consciousness  showed  that  he  antici 
pated  the  verdict  of  his  audience,  "  is  a 
whalin'  voyage."  He  paused,  as  one  who 
could  bring  forward  corroborative  evidence 
if  demanded  by  the  situation,  but  who  for 
bore  to  force  an  opening  for  it.  This 
opening  was  instantly  afforded  by  the  good 
breeding  of  the  company. 

"  Guess  you  're  about  right,  cap'n," 
said  Captain  Trent.  "That'll  take  the 
stifFenin'  out  of  'most  anybody." 

"Well,  I  guess  it  will,"  said  the  cap 
tain,  while  his  eyes  sparkled,  and  he  leaned 
forward  and  knocked  his  pipe  on  the  table 
edge.  But  he  waited  still  for  the  stimulus 
of  further  interest. 

"  The  kind  of  weather  you  have  up 
there  don't  suit  land-lubbers,"  remarked 
Captain  Small. 

"  Weather  !  "  Captain  Wheelock  ex 
claimed.  "  A  man  that  's  been  around 


Rod's  Salvation 

Cape  Horn  three  times  don't  have  much 
to  say  about  the  weather.  When  I  — " 
The  auditors  settled  back  in  their  chairs; 
the  lamp  flickered,  the  atmosphere  grew 
more  stifling,  the  sound  of  the  waves  on 
the  beach  deeper,  but  the  little  circle  within 
were  in  the  northern  seas  with  harpoon 
and  grappling-iron. 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  Captain  Trent, 
carelessly  glancing  out  of  the  window  at 
his  right,  saw  approaching  swiftly  a  bright 
spot  on  the  thick  darkness.  He  said  noth 
ing,  however,  but  watched  it  as  he  listened, 
and  in  a  few  moments  the  light  of  the 
lantern  flashed  through  the  low  window, 
a  light  step  sounded  on  the  doorstone,  then 
a  subdued  swish  of  a  skirt  against  the  door 
itself,  and  a  sharp,  quick  knock  on  the 
panels.  There  was  a  scraping  of  chairs. 
Captain  Wheelock  suspended  his  narration, 
and  Captain  Case  called  out,  "  Come  in  !  " 

The  door  swung  back,  and  in  the  dark 
opening,  illuminated  only  by  the  upward 
flash  of  the  lantern  in  her  hand,  stood  a 
ii 


Rod's  Salvation 

young  girl.  Even  the  feeble  light  of  the 
lamp  blinded  her,  after  the  cool,  soft  dark 
ness  without,  and  she  paused  a  moment, 
a  smile  on  her  lips,  peering  uncertainly  into 
the  smoky  room.  Her  short,  plain  skirt 
was  dull  blue,  and  her  blouse  waist  was 
like  it,  with  a  deep  white  sailor  collar,  out 
of  which  her  graceful  throat  and  head  rose 
like  a  flower.  Her  dark  hair  was  twisted 
into  a  thick,  close  knot  behind,  and  she 
wore  a  small  red  cap  pulled  down  almost 
to  her  ears.  A  few  dark  locks  fell  over 
her  forehead,  under  which  her  star-like  eyes 
looked  out  brilliantly  and  fearlessly.  Her 
small  nose  and  charming,  smiling  mouth 
made  up  a  singularly  beautiful  face. 

"  Good-evenin',  Miss  Fayal.  Come  in  ! 
Come  in  ! "  rose  the  chorus,  with  a  hospit 
able  waving  of  pipes. 

"  Well,  Fay,  I  guess  you've  come  after 
me,"  supplemented  Captain  Wheelock, 
with  a  somewhat  shamefaced  abandonment 
of  his  role  of  narrator. 

"  Good-evening,"   said  Fayal,   stepping 
12 


Rod's  Salvation 

into  the  room,  with  a  laughing  nod  to  the 
whole  group.  "  Well,  grandpa,  I  guess 
I  have  come  after  you,"  and  she  went  over 
to  the  old  man,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  There  was  an  absolute  uncon 
sciousness  of  her  beauty  in  her  manner, 
and  yet  a  full,  friendly  appreciation  of  the 
admiring  and  affectionate  glances  of  the 
half-dozen  weather-beaten  old  sailors  that 
was  charming. 

"  It 's  time  you  were  home,  you  know 
it  is.  No  wonder  you  looked  put  by  when 
I  came  in.  Now  I  know  what  you  were 
saying,"  and  she  looked  slowly  around  the 
group,  who  grinned  in  assenting  enjoy 
ment.  "  Yes,  I  know,  and  there's  no  use 
in  denying  it.  You  were  saying,  just  as  I 
came  in,  that  you  did  n't  believe  there  was 
anybody  could  kill  a  whale  quicker  than 
you  could." 

The  grin  deepened  into  a  loud  laugh  of 
confirmation,  joined  in  by  the  old  captain 
with  some  deprecation. 

"  Oh,  I  know  you,  you  old  whaler,"  re- 


Rod's  Salvation 

peated  the  girl,  nodding  and  swinging  the 
lantern.  "  Come  along  home." 

Captain  Wheelock  rose,  and  in  a  minute 
the  two,  with  a  gay  "  Good-night  "  from 
Fayal,  left  the  murky  atmosphere  of  good- 
fellowship,  and  stepped  out  into  the  damp 
darkness,  lightened  by  the  twinkling  lan 
tern  and  penetrated  by  the  sound  of  the 
waves  below.  -k 

The  usual  silence  of  people  who  are  in 
no  haste  to  express  what  is  in  the  minds 
of  all  followed  their  exit.  Then  Captain 
Sash  remarked,  "  Well,  I  guess  she  ain't 
off  her  soundings  yet"  and  looked  defiantly 
around  for  somebody  to  contradict  him. 
Nobody  did.  Even  Captain  Small's  pessi 
mistic  views  of  the  attendant  difficulties  of 
woman's  career  were  modified  by  the  vision 
of  the  young,  beautiful,  and  courageous 
creature  who  had  just  left  them. 


Rod's  Salvation 

II 

IT  was  perhaps  twenty  minutes  later. 
The  conversation  had  been  renewed  upon 
subjects  dear  to  seafaring  men.  There 
was  another  rapid  tread  outside ;  the  door 
opened  abruptly  for  the  third  time,  and 
a  young  man  stepped  into  the  room, 
whose  quick  glance  had  taken  in  all  the 
occupants  before  he  responded  to  their 
deliberate  nods  of  recognition.  He  was 
a  heavily-built  fellow,  rather  good-looking 
in  a  not  particularly  attractive  way,  with 
overhanging  eyebrows,  beneath  which  his 
eyes  looked  watchfully  forth  to  see  what 
people  were  thinking  of  him.  His  was 
a  not  unintelligent  face,  though  far  from 
intellectual.  His  manner,  gait,  and  voice 
were  permeated  by  a  sense  of  his  own  im 
portance,  which  restrained  within  bounds 
what  might  otherwise  have  been  a  turbu 
lent  nature.  His  passions,  naturally  strong 
and  tenacious,  could  be  wrought  upon  only 
through  this  medium  of  self-consideration, 
15 


Rod's  Salvation 

which,  without  concealing  their  existence 
from  even  indifferent  observers,  usually 
withheld  them  from  reaching  active  de 
monstration  or  real  depth.  Yet  this  armor 
of  Farnor's  was  not  proof  against  his  own 
carking  doubt  of  the  entire  success  of  the 
impression  he  made  upon  others,  by  which 
suggestion  perfect  self-satisfaction  is  un 
troubled. 

"  Come  for  your  mail,  Mr.  Farnor  ?  " 
asked  Captain  Sash.  It  was  noteworthy 
that  no  one  suspected  him  of  having  come 
for  the  social  advantages  of  the  place. 

"Yes,  captain,"  answered  the  young 
man,  with  an  attempt  at  ease  and  famil 
iarity.  "  Anybody  brought  it  over  ?  " 

"  Here  you  are,"  and  Captain  Sash 
shoved  towards  him  a  small  pile  of  letters 
lying  on  the  table.  "  Went  over  myself 
to-night." 

Farnor  picked  up  the  pile,  and  ran  them 

through,  laying  aside  one  or  two  addressed 

to  himself.     This  was  the  usual  mode  of 

mail   distribution   at   Seacove.     The    men 

16 


Rod's  Salvation 

sat  around,  smoking  silently  and  watching 
him. 

"  Don't  see  any  that  belong  up  my  way, 
or  I  'd  take  them  along  too,"  he  said,  lay 
ing  down  the  last  letter  and  picking  up  his 
hat. 

"  Most  of  'em  been  in.  Cap'n  Whee- 
lock  was  the  last." 

Farnor  looked  quickly  at  the  speaker, 
and  then,  with  something  of  an  effort,  asked 
carelessly,  "  So  the  cap'n  's  been  down  this 
evening,  has  he  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Left  about  half  an  hour  ago." 
There  was  a  pause,  somewhat  oppressive 
to  Farnor,  who  kicked  the  table  leg  with 
assumed  carelessness.  "  Him  and  Fayal," 
concluded  Captain  Trent. 

"  Yes,"  supplemented  Captain  Sash. 
"  She  came  down  and  towed  him  home," 
and  he  glanced  around  to  see  if  anybody 
had  anything  to  say  against  that. 

"Ah,   yes?"   murmured    Farnor    inter 
rogatively.    "  Well,  what  are  the  prospects 
for  codfishing,  cap'n  ?  " 
17 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Get  out  to-morrow  or  next  day,"  was 
the  reply,  "  if  it  don't  blow  too  hard." 

"  I  'd  like  to  get  a  chance  to  go  out  with 
you,  some  time." 

"  Plenty  of  chances  before  the  fishing  's 
over,  I  guess,"  was  the  not  too  cordial 
statement. 

"  Well,"  and  Farnor  opened  the  door, 
"  I  '11  say  good-evening,  gentlemen." 

"  Good-night,"  answered  the  two  men 
upon  whom  generally  devolved  those  social 
duties  of  Seacove  that  no  one  else  cared  to 
attend  to. 

It  struck  Farnor  that  there  was  more 
cordiality  in  their  parting  salutation  than 
had  been  in  their  greeting ;  and  though  this 
was  not  a  reflection  that  affected  his  self- 
esteem,  it  was  something  very  like  an  oath 
that  passed  his  lips  as  he  stepped  from  the 
threshold  and  strode  away  into  the  darkness. 

Meanwhile,  Fayal  and  her  grandfather 
were  walking  slowly  along  the  uneven  road 
towards  home.  They  passed  through  sev 
eral  of  the  little  ten-feet-wide  streets,  on 
18 


Rod's  Salvation 

each  side  of  which  the  small  houses  of  the 
fishermen  clustered  and  smiled  at  each 
other,  and  made  their  way  to  the  Wheelock 
cottage,  which  stood  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest,  at  the  head  of  a  lane.  In  one  place 
a  foot-bridge  across  a  deep  gully  was  broken 
down,  and  they  had  to  descend  and  ascend 
the  steep  banks  on  either  side ;  no  easy 
matter,  in  the  darkness,  with  the  loose  dirt 
and  rolling  stones.  But  Fayal's  foot  was 
as  sure  as  a  deer's,  and  to  the  old  man  the 
way  was  as  familiar  as  his  own  sitting-room 
floor  :  while  the  swinging  lantern  gave  the 
necessary  assistance  at  critical  points.  Here 
and  there  gleamed  through  the  curtainless 
windows  the  ray  of  a  lamp  right  across  the 
narrow  footpath,  and  twice  they  met  a  way 
farer,  like  themselves,  whose  lantern  warned 
them  of  his  approach,  and  with  whom  they 
exchanged  a  good-evening.  Always  in  their 
ears  was  the  tumbling  of  waves  on  the 
beach,  just  beyond  the  line  of  tiny  houses 
which  ran  along  the  edge  of  the  steep  sand 
bluff  on  their  right ;  and  above  the  dark- 


Rod's  Salvation 

ness  of  land  and  water  were  wind-driven 
mists,  and  above  the  mists  were  the  half- 
veiled  stars. 

"  Why  did  n't  Rod  come  with  you,  for 
company  ?  "  asked  Captain  Wheelock. 

"  Oh,  Rod  was  studying,"  answered 
Fayal  quickly,  turning  on  her  heel  towards 
her  grandfather,  whom  she  was  preceding, 
and  walking  backwards,  as  she  spoke,  over 
the  short  green  turf  which  was  now  under 
their  feet.  "  He  wanted  to  come  with  me, 
but  I  would  n't  let  him.  I  thought  he  'd 
much  better  stay  where  he  was." 

"  Yes,  if  he  was  studying,  I  should  think 
he  had." 

Fayal  was  quick  to  perceive  the  critical 
implication. 

"  Now,  grandpa,  you  know  Miss  Round 
says  that  there 's  no  one  can  get  ahead  of 
Rod  Grant  when  he  wants  to  study.  And 
who  wants  a  boy  to  study  the  during  day  ? 
You  wouldn't  yourself." 

"No,"  admitted  Captain  Wheelock. 
He  did  not  add  that  there  certainly  was 

20 


Rod's  Salvation 

little  danger  of  such  a  mistake.  He  knew 
his  granddaughter's  line  of  argumentative 
reply  by  this  time. 

"  I  thought  perhaps  Farnor  would  have 
come  along  with  you,  if  Rod  did  n't,"  he 
resumed. 

Fayal  turned  indifferently  on  her  heel 
again,  and  went  forward,  swinging  her 
lantern,  while  she  answered,  in  a  voice  out 
of  which  all  the  interest  had  gone  : 

"  I  guess  he  thought  so,  too.  He  asked 
me  if  he  could  come.  There  wasn't  much 
use  in  saying  I  did  n't  want  him,  so  I  told 
him  to  wait  for  me  at  Rose  Lane,  and  I 
came  round  by  Sash  Corner.  I  guess  he 's 
there  now.  Any  way,  he  has  n't  sighted 
us  yet,"  and  Fayal  laughed  aloud. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  as  I  'd  play  those 
sort  of  tricks  with  Farnor,"  said  Captain 
Wheelock  a  little  uneasily.  "  He  does  n't 
seem  just  the  right  kind." 

"  Why,  grandpa !  "  and  Fayal  swung 
round  again.  UI  guess  you  don't  want  me 
to  be  afraid  of  Dan  Farnor  !  " 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Well,  no,  I  guess  I  don't,"  said  the 
captain  apologetically,  as  they  turned  one 
of  the  many  little  corners  of  the  toy  village, 
and  found  themselves  facing  the  old  white 
house  which  was  home  for  both.  The 
door  opened,  and  in  the  doorway  stood  a 
charmingly  pretty  old  woman. 

"  I  sighted  your  lantern  when  you  turned 
into  the  lane,"  said  she,  as  they  went  in. 
"  Seems  to  me  you  took  the  long  way 
round." 

"  And  what  if  we  did,  grandma  ?  "  said 
Fayal,  who,  depositing  the  lantern  in  the 
corner,  put  her  arm  about  the  old  woman 
and  drew  her  into  the  sitting-room,  which 

O  ' 

opened  directly  from  the  little  square  place 
of  entrance  which  could  not  be  called  a 
hall.  "  I  guess  you  did  n't  worry  about 
us  much,  did  you  ?  " 

"  Worry !  Land,  what  'd  I  worry  about  ? " 
said  her  grandmother,  sitting  down,  and 
picking  up  her  four  steel  needles  and  the 
dependent  stocking.  "  I  never  was  much 
of  a  whittle." 

22 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Where  's  Rod  ?  "  asked  Fayal,  with  a 
quick  glance  about  the  room. 

"  Gone  to  fetch  some  wood  ;  the  fire  's 
getting  kind  o'  low." 

"  Oh  ! "  and  Fayal  tossed  off  her  red 
cap,  and  dropped  into  a  rather  uncompro 
mising  rocking-chair.  But  it  might  have 
been  a  divan  of  Oriental  luxury,  so  grace 
ful  were  the  curves  of  her  figure  and  so 
suggestive  of  indolent  comfort,  as  she  threw 
one  arm  over  her  head,  and  looked,  smiling, 
from  one  to  the  other  of  the  old  couple. 
Mrs.  Wheelock's  hair  was  snow-white, 
and,  parted  in  the  middle,  was  decorously 
smoothed  back  and  wound  in  a  knot  be 
hind.  Her  eyes  were  blue,  with  that  vivid 
color  which  we  associate  usually  with  youth 
alone.  Her  features  were  regular,  and  her 
smile  was  childishly  sweet.  The  old  sea- 
captain's  eyes  dwelt  upon  her  with  loving 
satisfaction.  He  felt  he  had  been  away 
some  time,  and  he  was  glad  to  see  her 
again. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  she,  looking  up  to  meet 
23 


Rod's  Salvation 

his  eyes  with  a  little  nod  and  smile.  It 
was  as  pretty  as  if  they  had  been  eighteen 
and  twenty. 

u  No,"  said  the  captain,  smiling  too. 
"You  were  n't  ever  anything  of  a  whittle  ; 
not  even  in  the  winters  when  I  was  off 
after  whales." 

"  Oh,  whales !  "  said  Mrs.  Wheelock, 
with  a  little  toss  of  mock  contempt.  Cap 
tain  Wheelock  enjoyed  the  contempt  im 
mensely. 

"  She  used  to  write  me  letters,"  he  said 
to  Fayal,  with  a  nod.  "  She  can  write  a 
mighty  good  letter.  Used  to  be  a  school- 
marm,  you  know." 

Just  then  the  door  opened,  and  a  boy  of 
eighteen  came  in  with  an  armful  of  wood. 
Fayal  sprang  to  her  feet,  and,  with  a  smile 
of  pleasure  playing  about  her  lips,  which 
dimpled  into  a  laugh  at  his  overloaded 
appearance,  helped  him  deposit  the  wood 
on  the  hearth. 

"  Hullo,  Fayal ;  got  back,  have  you  ?  " 
was  the  boyish  greeting.  "  Well,  grandpa, 
24 


Rod's  Salvation 

how  was  the  Club  to-night  ?  Did  you  spin 
'em  a  yarn  that  knocked  Cap'n  Sash  out  of 
sight  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  did,"  answered  Fayal  for 
him  ;  "  and  he  'd  have  been  spinning  'em 
yet,  if  I  had  n't  brought  him  home." 

Fayal  had  resumed  her  seat,  but  her  eyes 
dwelt  upon  her  brother,  who  tossed  a  knot 
of  wood  into  the  stove,  slammed  the  iron 
door,  picked  up  a  book,  and  threw  himself 
on  the  stiff  sofa  under  the  mantelpiece,  as 
if  everything  he  did  was  of  absorbing  inter 
est.  He  was  a  very  handsome  boy,  and 
looked  much  like  his  sister;  but  his  face 
lacked  the  spirit  and  will  that  intensified 
hers,  and  the  coloring  was  quite  different. 
The  eyes,  with  their  long  lashes,  were  blue, 
like  his  grandmother's ;  the  mouth  was 
sensitive  and  wilful ;  and  his  manner  con 
veyed  a  hint  of  constant  restlessness,  which 
might  develop  into  activity,  and  might  prove 
something  less  desirable.  He  was  sure  to 
find  women  to  condone  his  offences,  what 
ever  they  might  be  ;  that  much  might  be 
25 


Rod's  Salvation 

easily  read  in  a  certain  appealing  look  in  his 
blue  eyes,  and  a  general  air  of  irresponsible 
charm.  That  he  had  not  hitherto  won 
golden  opinions  from  his  own  sex  was  un 
doubtedly  the  unfortunate  effect  of  their 
stormy  lives,  which  unfitted  them  for  the 
enjoyment  of  the  less  sturdy  graces. 

Ill 

THE  next  day,  Fayal  stood  on  the  door- 
sill,  looking  out  over  the  intense  glittering 
blue  of  the  sea.  Just  below  her  was 
Rod,  and  her  arm  rested  on  his  shoulder. 
It  was  a  brilliant  day.  The  air  at  Seacove 
was  remarkably  clear ;  there  was  none  of 
that  distant  haze  which  so  often  shadows 
the  outlines  about  a  place  by  the  sea.  Every 
low  building  rose  clear  and  sharp  against 
the  sky,  and  beyond  the  village  stretched 
the  sweep  of  flat  land,  clothed  in  smoky 
browns  and  smouldering  reds,  to  the  very 
horizon  line  ;  while  on  the  other  side 
expanded 

26 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  the  great  opaque 
Blue  breadth  of  sea,  without  a  break." 

"  It  's  just  the  day  for  it,"  said  Fayal 
positively.  "  I  'm  sure  it  's  quite  cold 
enough." 

"  They  went  earlier  than  this,  last  year," 
said  Rod,  "  and  got  a  good  haul." 

Down  the  lane  came  a  fine-looking 
woman,  with  a  shawl  tied  over  her  head. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Trent !  "  called 
out  Fayal.  "  Are  they  going  cod-fishing 
to-day  ? " 

"  Morning,  Fayal.  They  're  going  at 
eleven  o'clock.  I  just  stopped  in  at  Peter 
Sash's  to  tell  him  James  thought  they  might 
as  well  try  their  luck.  I  told  James  I  'd  bet 
a  shad  they  would  n't  get  a  fish,  and  he 
said  it  was  the  first  time  he  ever  knew  a 
Seacove  woman  bet  awn  anything  but  a 
certainty.  All  the  same,  I  'm  reckoning 
awn  fried  cod  for  my  supper." 

Mrs.  Trent  was  leaning  on  the  palings 
of  the  trifling  fence,  which  seemed  intended 
more  to  keep  the  house  from  coming  into 
27 


Rod's  Salvation 

the  road  than  from  encroachments  the  other 
way,  so  close  it  stood  to  the  low  windows. 
Mrs.  Trent  had  plenty  of  time  this  morn 
ing  ;  no  one  was  ever  in  much  of  a  hurry 
at  Seacove. 

"  Who  's  going  ?  "  asked  Rod  eagerly. 

"  Only  two  boats,  Rawd,"  answered 
Mrs.  Trent.  "  Peter  Sash  and  James  in 
one,  and  Abel  Small  and  John  Mason 
in  the  other." 

"  Good-day,  Mary  Jane  Trent,"  said 
Mrs.  Wheelock,  behind  Fayal.  Her  little 
shawl  was  crossed  on  her  breast ;  she  wore 
a  fresh  white  cap,  and  the  soft,  plump  out 
lines  of  her  old  face  were  tinted  like  a 
girl's.  "  So  they  're  going  out  to-day,  are 
they  ?  " 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Wheelock,  they're  going  to 
see  if  the  fish  have  come  up  yet.  Where  's 
the  captain  ?  He  ought  to  go  and  launch 
'em." 

"  He  's  cruisin'  round,"  answered  the  old 
lady  placidly.  "  I  guess  he  '11  be  down  about 
the  time  they  start." 

28 


Rod's  Salvation 

Fayal  and  Rod  had  dashed  into  the  house 
for  their  caps,  and  were  now  on  their  way 
to  the  beach,  where  already  a  little  group 
of  men  stood  about  two  heavy  row-boats. 

"  There  's  Cap'n  Small  now,"  said  Rod, 
as  they  drew  near,  "  and  Cap'n  Trent 's 
with  him." 

The  men  who  were  to  go  were  clad  in 
oilskin  suits,  and  were  packing  now  a  spear 
and  now  a  coil  of  rope  in  their  several 
boats,  and  answering  the  questions  and  the 
chaff  of  the  bystanders.  Two  or  three 
women  stood  about,  with  housewifely  fore 
sight,  engaging  a  share  of  the  possible  spoil. 
As  Fayal  and  Rod  drew  near,  a  figure  sep 
arated  itself  from  the  group  and  approached 
them.  Fayal  nodded  indifferently,  but  Rod 
called  out,  "  Hullo,  Dan  !  Don't  you  wish 
we  were  going  too  ?  " 

"  Not  to-day.  What 's  the  fun  of  it, 
anyway  ?  Beastly  hard  work,  and  no  fish, 
probably,"  answered  Dan  Farnor,  shrug 
ging  his  shoulders. 

Rod  looked  at  him  with  some  admira- 
29 


Rod's  Salvation 

tion  ;  he  envied  the  knowledge  of  larger 
excitements  that  made  the  stranger  so  in 
different  to  Seacove  episodes,  but  at  present 
could  not  imitate  it,  and  rushed  down  to  the 
boats,  leaving  Farnor  with  his  sister. 

u  That  was  a  nice  trick  you  played  me 
last  night,  Miss  Fayal,"  said  Farnor,  stop 
ping  short  and  looking  into  the  girl's  face. 

Fayal  stopped,  too,  and  met  his  glance 
fearlessly,  though  at  first  in  some  bewil 
derment.  In  the  interest  of  the  moment 
she  had  forgotten  all  about  the  incident  of 
the  evening  before.  Then  she  broke  into 
a  laugh,  long  and  merry,  which  made  the 
young  man's  cheek  flush  deeper  with  anger. 

"  You  cruised  round  considerable  before 
you  gave  it  up,  did  n't  you  ?  "  she  laughed. 

"  Never  mind,"  he  replied  shortly.  "  I  '11 
pay  you  up  for  your  tricks  yet." 

"  Did  you  go  into  the  Club  ?  "  she 
questioned,  with  renewed  amusement.  "  If 
you  did,  I  know  you  hung  yourself,  — 
they  'd  all  be  sure  to  know  you  came  after 
me." 

3° 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  They  did  n't  know  anything  of  the 
sort." 

They  had  walked  on  again,  but  though 
they  were  quite  near  the  men  and  the  boat 
their  voices  were  inaudible  save  to  each 
other,  for  the  sound  of  the  beating  surf. 

"  But,  Fayal,  why  do  you  treat  me  so  ?  " 
said  the  man,  in  another  tone.  "  You  know 
I  love  you  ;  why  don't  you  act  like  any 
other  girl  ?  "  There  was  real  passion  in 
his  voice,  but  he  kept  a  close  guard  on  his 
eyes  and  manner,  that  the  people  near 
might  know  nothing  of  what  was  going 
on. 

"  I  don't  know  much  how  other  girls 
act,"  said  Fayal  coolly.  "  You  know  I 
never  cared  much  for  other  girls.  I  had 
Rod,"  and  she  looked  up  as  if  sure  of 
sympathy  in  this  her  great  love. 

"  And  how  when  Rod  begins  to  care  for 
other  girls  ?  "  said  Farnor,  with  a  sneer. 

Fayal's  face  grew  grave  suddenly,  then 
brightened  again. 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  "  she  answered,  "  he 
31 


Rod's  Salvation 

won't.  In  the  first  place,  there  are  not 
any  girls  here  he  would  like  as  much  as 
me,  anyway." 

"And  you,  —  do  you  mean  to  say  you 
never  expect  to  care  for  any  man  as  much 
as  you  do  for  Rod  ?  "  exclaimed  Farnor, 
angry  at  this  persistent  obtuseness. 

"  Care  as  much  as  I  do  for  Rod  !  "  cried 
Fayal.  "  Oh,  go  along  !  "  and  she  laughed 
in  sheer  amusement  at  the  question.  "  I 
guess  you  know  you  're  not  talking  sense 
now.  Come  on.  They  're  going  to 
launch  her." 

The  other  two  salts  had  arrived  while 
they  were  talking,  and  Fayal  danced  down 
to  the  group,  followed  by  Farnor,  trying 
to  conceal  his  chagrin  under  his  usual  air 
of  self-importance.  The  men  were  drag 
ging  one  boat  to  the  water's  edge.  The 
waves  were  boisterous,  and  it  seemed  to  a 
novice  a  hazardous  undertaking  to  launch 
her  in  the  midst  of  them. 

"  Good  luck,  cap'n  !  "  said  Fayal,  lay 
ing  her  hand  in  that  of  Captain  Trent, 
32 


Rod's  Salvation 

who  stood  nearest  to  her.  Captain  Trent 
grasped  it  heartily  and  shook  it,  his  brawny 
arm  bared  above  the  elbow,  with  a  singu 
larly  nice  thing  in  the  way  of  an  anchor 
and  lover's  knot  showing  in  fine  relief. 
Mary  Jane  could  have  told  a  tale  of  Cap 
tain  Trent's  devotion  to  sentiment  as 
therein  indicated. 

«  Good  luck  to  all  of  you ! "   and  she 
stood  back,  as  one  of  the  heavy  men  clam 
bered  into  the  bow  and  picked  up  the  oars, 
while  the  other,  assisted  by  friendly  hands, 
pushed  the  boat  down  into  the  ripple  of  the 
receding  wave,  and  waited  with  practised 
eye    for    the   right   moment    for    the  final 
shove.      It  came  at  last,  and  with  a  cheer 
from  those  on  shore  the  craft  rode  out  over 
the  crests  of  the  breakers,  with  the  two 
men    pulling    hard    at    the  oars.     Fayal's 
eyes  were  shining,  and  she  held  her  breath 
and  clasped  her  hands   in  excitement.      It 
was    not   without    its    romantic    side,  this 
matter-of-fact  expedition  for  codfish,   and 
she  was  susceptible  to  shades  of  emotion. 
3  33 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Well,  now,"  said  Mary  Jane  Trent, 
at  her  side,  with  what  passed  for  enthu 
siasm  at  Seacove,  "  I  do  like  to  see  'em  go 
out  like  that  awn  the  tawp  of  the  waves, 
don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Fayal. 

They  stood  and  watched  the  launching 
of  the  other  boat,  which  followed  immedi 
ately,  and  then  the  group  dispersed  ;  only 
a  few,  including  Fayal,  waiting  to  see  the 
fishermen  become  dots  on  the  blue  expanse 
of  the  ocean.  The  year's  work  had  be 
gun.  Farnor  waited  because  Fayal  did, 
and  turned  to  walk  away  with  her  at 
last. 

"  You  may  as  well  listen  to  me,  Fayal," 
he  said,  an  obstinate  look  settling  down 
about  his  eyes.  "  I  shall  tell  you  every 
day  that  I  love  you.  There  's  no  use  try 
ing  to  turn  me  off." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  'm  trying  very  hard 
to  turn  you  off,"  said  Fayal  easily. 

"Yes,  you  are,"  retorted  Farnor.  "  You 
are  always  trying  it  in  one  way  or  another, 
34 


Rod's  Salvation 

and,  by  George  !  I  don't  know  how  I 
stand  it  from  you  !  Other  girls  have  n't 
behaved  so  with  me,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  after  one  of  them, 
then  ? "  inquired  Fayal,  with  a  lack  of 
active  interest  that  must  have  been  trying. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  any  of  them !  "  he 
answered  angrily.  "  Because  it 's  you  that 
I  want.  But  I  don't  know  how  long  you 
expect  a  man  to  hang  around  waiting  for 
you,  and  making  himself  the  laughing-stock 
of  these  old  coves  around  here  for  propos 
ing  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  've  kept  it  private  as  murder," 
said  Fayal,  with  some  scorn.  She  was 
not  experienced,  but  she  felt  the  egotism 
of  the  man  as  keenly  as  a  more  subtle 
analyzer  would  have  done. 

"  It  is  n't  that  I  care  about,"  asserted 
Farnor  hastily  and  untruthfully,  "  but  it 's 
all-fired  hard  on  a  man  who  is  in  love  with 
you." 

Fayal  looked  over  her  shoulder,  and 
then  paused.  Farnor  paused,  too,  looking 
35 


Rod's  Salvation 

into  her  eyes  for  a  gleam  of  encouragement. 
His  was  an  honest  passion;  it  only  felt  the 
limitations  of  his  character. 

"  There  he  comes,  poor  boy  ! "  said 
Fayal,  in  a  tender  tone.  "  He  wanted  to 
go  with  them." 

"  Who  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  said 
Farnor  roughly. 

"  Rod,"  answered  Fayal. 

"  Damn  him  !  "  came  from  the  man's 
white  lips. 

Fayal  looked  at  him  a  moment  with  eyes 
flashing  anger  ;  then  turned,  and,  leaving 
him,  went  back  to  meet  her  brother.  Far- 
nor's  eyes  followed  her  a  moment,  and 
then  he  too  went  on,  with  an  ugly  look 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth. 


IV 

IT    was    two    weeks    after,    in    the    early 

evening,  that  Fayal  came  again  into    the 

sitting-room  from  out-of-doors,  and  asked, 

36 


Rod's  Salvation 

as  she  had  done  that  other  time,  with  a 
quick  glance  about, — 

«  Where  's  Rod  ?  " 

This  time,  however,  there  was  more 
anxiety  in  her  tone  ;  her  eyes,  too,  were 
anxious,  as  she  looked  at  her  grandmother, 
waiting  her  answer,  before  she  tossed  down 
the  cap  she  held  in  her  hand,  and  took  her 
usual  seat  in  the  stiff  rocking-chair. 

"  Well,  Dan  Farnor  came  for  him  just 
after  you  went  out,"  answered  Mrs.Whee- 
lock  placidly,  as  usual.  "  I  guess  they  're 
cruisin'  round  somewhere." 

Fayal  seated  herself  wearily,  and  said 
nothing. 

"  I  wish  he  'd  shipped  with  another 
mate,"  remarked  the  captain. 

"  Now,  you  let  Rod  alone,"  said  Mrs. 
Wheelock,  with  a  little  nod  of  autocratic 
decision. 

Captain  Wheelock  smiled  broadly.  He 
thought  her  charming.  "  I  have  n't  said 
anything  about  Rod,"  he  protested.  "  Have 
I,  Fay  ?  " 

37 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  No,  grandpa,"  answered  Fayal  ab 
sently.  "  You  are  always  very  good."  It 
was  almost  admitting  that  he  might  have 
found  something  to  say.  She  was  absent 
indeed. 

"  And  why  should  n't  he  be  ?  "  inquired 
Mrs.  Wheelock.  "Why  shouldn't  he  be, 
I  'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  tones  of  her 
soft  old  voice  were  intended  to  signify 
excitement. 

14  Who  'd  he  be  good  to  if  not  his 
own  daughter's  children  ?  I  'd  like  to  see 
him  anything  but  good  to  'em  !  A  great 
rough  sea-captain  like  him  !  "  and  she 
nodded  tremendously,  and  looked  at  him 
with  a  scorn  which  convulsed  the  delighted 
captain.  "  If  he  behaved  here  as  he  did  on 
board  ship,  he  'd  see  !  /  'd  manage  him  !  " 

"You  'd  set  me  adrift  entirely,  would  n't 
you,  now  ?  "  asked  the  captain,  with  an 
air  of  recognizing  harsh  facts.  "  Well, 
you  see,  I  'm  careful,  —  I  'm  careful.  I 
know  her,"  he  added  to  Fayal.  "We  've 
38 


Rod's  Salvation 

been    married    sixty-one   years,  —  kind   o' 
got  the  run  of  each  other." 

Usually  Fayal  delighted  in  the  coquet 
ting  of  her  grandfather  and  grandmother, 
but  this  evening  she  could  hardly  smile  in 
response  to  the  appeals  made  to  her.  It 
was  a  relief  when,  at  the  usual  early  hour 
for  retirement,  they  left  her  alone  in  the 
sitting-room  by  the  smouldering  fire  to  wait 
for  Rod.  Into  her  eyes,  as  she  waited, 
came  two  slow  tears,  —  those  eyes  which, 
until  the  last  ten  days,  had  never  looked 
upon  life  as  anything  which  brings  burdens, 
in  the  bearing  of  which  hearts  are  bowed 
down  and  willing  steps  are  made  to  falter, 
but  rather  as  a  practically  limitless  oppor 
tunity  for  the  enjoyment  of  sun,  health, 
and  affection.  To  speak  nearer  the  truth, 
she  had  never  looked  upon  life  at  all ;  she 
had  lived.  These  two  tears  were  all  she 
shed  then  ;  it  was  not  the  way  of  the  Sea- 
cove  women  to  cry  very  much  over  their 
misfortunes.  Nor  were  these  tears  of  pro 
test  or  of  helpless  grief;  they  were  rather 
39 


Rod's  Salvation 

a  tribute  to  the  loneliness  of  the  present 
position.  She  who  almost  never  in  her 
whole  life  had  spent  a  half-hour  alone ;  she 
who,  many  and  many  an  evening,  had 
watched  the  fire  die  out,  with  Rod's  curly 
head  close  beside  her,  while  they  talked  of 
the  delightful  things  they  were  doing  every 
day,  and  the  brilliant  things  they  would  do 
some  time  together ;  she  was  sitting  alone, 
while  the  old  clock  ticked  away  one  hour, 
and  then  another,  —  alone  and  lonely, 
while  Rod  —  Rod  was  —  where  ?  She 
knew  well  enough ;  and  a  little  frown 
drew  together  the  beautifully  pencilled  eye 
brows.  Down  at  the  Resort,  pjaying  cards 
with  Farnor.  No  such  respectable  meet 
ing-place  was  the  Resort  as  the  Club, 
where  Fayal  could  break  in,  and,  laughing, 
carry  home  her  brother  or  her  grandfather, 
as  the  case  might  be.  Neither  would  it 
fairly  be  considered  a  den  of  iniquity.  It 
was  the  place  where  the  young  men  of 
Seacove,  not  yet  fitted  by  experience  or 
consideration  for  the  solemn  conclave  of 
40 


Rod's  Salvation 

the  Club,  met  to  while  away  the  many 
idle  hours  of  life  in  a  fishing-village,  cut 
off  for  so  much  of  the  year  from  any 
active  intercourse  with  the  outside  world. 
Whether  or  not  it  might  have  remained  a 
place  of  entirely  innocent  amusement  must 
be  left  to  experts  in  original  sin  ;  but,  un 
fortunately,  there  was  not  wanting  the 
spirit  of  temptation  existing  outside  the 
souls  of  the  younger  members.  The  black 
sheep  of  the  older  population,  shut  out  by 
social  lines  from  the  respectable  atmosphere 
of  the  Club,  or  finding  there  a  lack  of 
necessary  excitement;  strangers,  young 
and  old,  who,  like  Dan  Farnor,  drifted 
into  the  village,  bearing  with  them  the 
aroma  of  metropolitan  dissipation, — these 
and  other  influences,  together  with  the 
harum-scarum  element  existing  in  any 
community,  made  the  Resort  a  place 
strongly  disapproved  of  by  conservative 
Seacove.  Hitherto,  Rod  had  not  shown 
the  slightest  inclination  for  the  place,  and 
even  now  his  occasional  presence  there 


Rod's  Salvation 

would  not  perhaps  have  caused  Fayal  over 
weening  anxiety  ;  for,  with  the  optimistic 
philosophy  of  Seacove  in  general,  and  her 
own  youth  and  temperament  in  particular, 
she  would  not  have  expected  her  Rod  to 
imbibe  any  great  harm  while  under  her 
watchful  guardianship. 

But  to-night  she  heard  again  Dan  Far- 
nor's  words,  and  saw  again  the  sulky  fire 
in  his  eyes,  when  he  had  last  met  and 
spoken  to  her  in  the  village  street ;  words 
and  look  had  haunted  her,  in  spite  of  her 
self.  It  was  the  day  after  the  fishing-boat 
episode.  She  was  dodging  the  little  irreg 
ular  houses,  on  her  way  to  Julia  Sash's  for 
some  yeast,  when,  around  the  corner  of  one 
of  them,  Farnor  came  towards  her.  Most 
of  the  doorways  of  Seacove  bore  the  sem 
blance  of  one  or  more  wonders  of  the  sea 
perched  above  them,  striking  the  beholder 
with  a  new  awe  of  the  possible  contents  of 
the  gay,  glittering  element  from  which  such 
things  could  be  brought  as  trophies.  A 
special  favorite  of  Fayal's  was  that  over 
42 


Rod's  Salvation 

Captain  Small's,  —  a  mermaid,  of  course  ; 
such  an  admirer  of  the  sex  could  do  no 
less  than  patronize  a  mermaid ;  but  it 
would  be  a  most  susceptible  mariner  who 
would  suffer  himself  to  be  decoyed  by  this 
wooden  representative  of  siren  fascination. 
She  was  plain  of  feature  and  deficient  in 
outline,  but  her  red  waist,  suggestive  of 
firemen  and  a  readiness  to  connect  a  hose 
with  her  native  element,  was  startling  of 
hue,  and  her  green  skirt  tapered  with  deli 
cate  discrimination  and  appropriateness  of 
color  into  a  somewhat  vague  fish's  tail. 
In  order  that  there  might  be  lacking  no 
charm  to  endear  her  to  the  patriot,  she 
bore  under  one  arm  the  shield  of  the 
United  States.  Her  face  was  turned 
towards  the  ocean,  and  Fayal  fancied  her 
longing  to  ride  again  at  the  head  of  a  gal 
lant  whaling-ship  and  greet  her  companion 
Lorelei  upon  the  distant  rocks.  Fayal  was 
pleasing  herself  with  this  fancy,  and  did 
not  see  Farnor  until  he  was  close  in  front 
of  her. 

43 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Miss 
Fayal,"  he  said. 

"  You  generally  do  have,"  was  the  non 
chalant  reply. 

"  I  have  to  warn  you  this  time." 

"  To  warn  me  !  " 

"  Yes.  You  think  you  won't  mind,  but 
you  will.  It  seems  that  no  man  can  reach 
you  except  through  your  brother  Rod ; 
that  no  man  can  make  you  think  of  him 
without  you  think  of  him  first.  Very  well. 
You  shall  think  of  me  when  you  think  of 
Rod  !  You  won't  be  able  to  think  of  him 
without  thinking  of  me  !  The  next  time 
I  tell  you  that  I  love  you,  you  '11  listen  to 
me.  That 's  all  I  've  got  to  say  to  you, 
Miss  Fayal,"  and  he  passed  on. 

He  had  spoken  so  rapidly  that  Fayal 
could  only  look  and  listen,  but  her  look 
was  so  fearless  that  it  angered  the  man 
more. 

"  Well,  you  've  laid  your  course,  have  n't 
you  ?  "  she  called  after  him  indifferently, 
undismayed  by  his  vehemence,  and  nodded 
44 


Rod's  Salvation 

at    the    mermaid    sympathetically    as    she 
went  on. 

But  since  that  time  dismay  had  grown 
upon  her,  nevertheless,  though  she  did  not 
call  it  by  its  name.  Day  after  day  had 
seen  Rod  in  the  company  of  Dan  Farnor. 
Evening  after  evening  he  had  wandered 
off,  now  and  again  to  bring  up  at  the 
Resort.  He  had  been  out  fishing  once  or 
twice,  but  had  come  back  without  his 
usual  enthusiasm.  Xo-night  Fayal  ac 
knowledged  that  Farnor  had  spoken  the 
truth  to  her  that  morning.  Since  then 
she  had  hardly  thought  of  Rod  that  she 
had  not  been  forced  to  think  of  Farnor 
too;  in  a  shadowy,  unacknowledged  way, 
to  be  sure,  like  an  unimportant  guest  in 
the  presence  of  the  heart's  idol,  but  there 
nevertheless.  It  did  not  make  him  the 
chief  figure  through  angry,  indignant, 
scornful  thought  of  him,  as  it  would  have 
done  with  some  women.  This  was,  per 
haps,  what  he  had  hoped  for ;  for  Farnor 
fancied  himself  versed  in  women's  books, 
45 


Rod's  Salvation 

and  knew  that  hatred  is  not  too  far  off 
from  love,  both  being  in  the  torrid  zone, 
though  on  opposite  sides  of  the  sphere  of 
emotion.  No,  it  was  Rod  still  that  she 
thought  of,  —  Rod  and  herself;  but  she 
knew,  too,  that  there  were  four  of  them, 
two  other  unimportant  people,  —  Farnor 
and  the  mermaid,  who  had  mixed  herself 
up  with  them,  unaccountably,  ever  since 
that  morning  when  she  had  been  brought 
back  from  contemplation  of  her  by  the 
sound  of  Farnor's  voice.  There  was  a 
last  flicker  inside  of  the  stove ;  the  fire 
had  gone  out  entirely,  but  the  somewhat 
overheated  room  was  the  more  comfortable. 
Voices  were  heard  from  the  road.  Fayal 
turned  her  head  to  listen.  Yes,  Rod  was 
coming  home,  and  Dan  Farnor  with  him. 
It  was  not  necessary  that  Fayal  should  go 
to  unbolt  the  door ;  bolts  and  locks  were 
unknown  at  Seacove.  Who  would  want 
to  come  in  except  people  who  had  business 
there,  and  whom  there  was  no  object 
in  shutting  out  ?  She  sat  quietly  and 
46 


Rod's  Salvation 

waited.  There  was  a  pause  outside,  and 
then  Rod  entered,  and  Farnor  went  on  alone. 
He  could  not  see  Fayal  as  he  passed  the 
curtainless  window,  her  high-backed  chair 
concealed  her,  but  he  was  quite  sure  that 
she  was  there. 

"  Here  I  am,  Rod,"  said  Fayal,  turning 
her  face  around  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  Fay  !  What  did  you  sit  up  for  ?  " 
he  said  a  little  impatiently,  as  he  came 
forward. 

"  Sit  up  !  "  said  Fayal,  with  grieved  sur 
prise.  "  When  did  I  ever  go  to  bed  when 
you  were  'nt  in  the  house  ?  I  'm  not 
sleepy." 

"  No,  of  course  you  're  not,"  said  Rod, 
with  some  compunction,  bending  over  and 
kissing  her  heartily.  Not  even  Farnor's 
laughing  inquiry  as  to  whether  his  sister 
was  waiting  for  him  with  a  lighted  candle 
to  take  upstairs  could  make  him  indiffer 
ent  to  her  whose  companionship  up  to  this 
time  had  been  all  sufficient. 

"  Where  have  you  been  ?  "  asked  Fayal. 
47 


Rod's  Salvation 

There  was  no  tone  of  reproof  in  her 
voice ;  only  interest,  made  a  little  pathetic 
by  the  fact  that  she  found  it  necessary  to 
ask. 

"  Oh,  playing  cards  at  the  Resort." 

"  With  Dan  Farnor  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  's  an  awfully  entertaining 
fellow,  Fay." 

"  Oh,  I   know  he  can  talk  like  Hob." 

"  Well,  he  can.  I  should  almost  think 
you  'd  take  a  fancy  to  him,"  said  Rod 
boyishly. 

"  Well,  I  don't,"  answered  Fayal  coldly. 
Then  she  sat  up,  with  a  sudden  sense  of 
grieved  humiliation,  and,  leaning  forward, 
looked  down  into  his  eyes  as  he  sat  on  the 
floor  by  her  side.  "  Rod,"  —  there  were 
almost  tears  in  her  voice,  —  "  do  you  want 
to  have  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  of  course  not.  Why  should 
I  ?  "  he  answered  carelessly. 

Fayal  leaned  back  again,  relieved. 

"  He  's  been  teaching  me  a  new  game," 
went  on  Rod,  with  eagerness.  "  And  he 
48 


Rod's  Salvation 

says  he  never  saw  such  a   lucky  fellow  as 
I  am,"  and  he  laughed  with  pleasure. 

"  Did  you  play  for  money,  Rod  ?  " 

"  Well,  yes,  but  I  did  n't  get  out  over 
my  head,  Fay  ;  you  need  n't  worry,"  said 
the  boy  reassuringly.  "  It  was  only  just 
to  have  something  to  play  for;  and  you 
know  I  earned  some  money  this  summer." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  can't  play  for  the 
fun  of  it,"  said  Fayal,  pulling  at  the  curly 
rings  of  his  hair. 

"  Oh,  well,  it  is  n't  rulable  not  to  play 
for  money  in  this  particular  game,"  said  Rod 
patronizingly.  "  It  does  n't  make  any 
difference,  anyway,  but  I  won  everything." 

"  I  'd  rather  Dan  Farnor  won  your 
money  than  that  you  won  his,"  said  Fayal 
quickly. 

"  Oh,  if  that  is  n't  just  like    a  girl !  " 

"  I  wish  it  was  like  you  !  It 's  like 
grandpa,  too." 

"  Dan   Farnor    says  that  grandpa   must 
be   quite  well   off   for  a   whaling   cap'n," 
said  Rod  thoughtfully. 
4  49 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  He  's  no  business  to  say  anything  of 
the  sort!"  blazed  Fayal.  "And,  Rod, 
Rod,  how  can  you  talk  with  him  about  it ! 
What  has  come  over  you  that  you  talk 
with  Dan  Farnor  about  your  own  grand 
father  ? "  Fayal  had  risen,  and  pushed 
back  her  chair. 

Rod  was   startled  by   her    impetuosity. 

"  Why,  he  did  n't  mean  anything, 
Fay,"  he  said;  "and  neither  did  I,  I'm 
sure." 

"Well,  go  to  bed,  anyway,"  said  Fayal 
wearily.  "  I  'm  going.  Dan  Farnor  never 
says  anything  that  he  does  n't  mean,"  she 
added.  It  was  a  conviction  that  had  sud 
denly  come  to  her.  "  Good-night,"  and 
she  threw  her  arms  around  the  boy's  neck 
and  kissed  him. 

There  was  a  dull  ache  in  her  throat, 
and  a  blinded  sensation  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
helpless,  hurt  feeling  all  over,  as  Fayal  laid 
her  head  on  the  pillow  that  night.  She 
was  all  unused  to  crying  herself  to  sleep. 


Rod's  Salvation 


DURING  the  next  week  things  did  not 
grow  better.  Rod  was  absent  more  and 
more,  and  had  less  and  less  to  say 
about  his  employments.  Fayal  was  too 
proud  to  ask  questions,  but  her  misery 
grew  with  the  silence.  He  was  restless, 
excited,  or  discontented,  and  somewhat 
sullen ;  and  her  eyes,  as  they  followed 
him  about  the  room,  or  as  he  made  his 
hasty  exit  after  supper,  were  dark  with 
suffering.  When,  in  all  the  years  of  their 
two  lives  before  now,  had  he  gone  off 
without  her  for  a  "  cruise  around,"  morn 
ing,  afternoon,  or  evening  ?  He  had  not 
even  to  call  her;  she  was  by  his  side  as  a 
matter  of  course.  They  two,  all  igno 
rant  of  the  rarity  of  it,  had  known  the  bliss 
of  perfect,  sufficing  companionship ;  and 
now  that  it  was  past,  of  course  it  was  on 
one  heart  that  the  bitterness  of  the  loss 
chiefly  bore. 

51 


Rod's  Salvation 

The  old  people  saw  it  all.  Do  not  the 
old  people  always  ?  And  when  youth  thinks 
age  irresponsive,  weak,  submissive,  is  it 
not  only  that  it  has  so  often  seen  it  all  ? 

It  was  at  sunset,  one  clear  afternoon, 
after  the  early  tea,  that  Fayal  threw  a 
shawl  over  her  shoulders  and  stepped  out 
into  the  lane,  and,  nodding  to  her  grand 
mother  at  the  window,  with  the  smile 
that  had  ceased  in  the  last  weeks  to  be 
brilliant,  and  become  only  sweet,  walked 
slowly  out  towards  the  open  country. 
The  kind  old  blue  eyes  watched  her  till 
she  was  out  of  sight ;  then  Mrs.  Whee- 
lock  turned  around  and  faced  her  husband, 
who  was  looking  out  of  the  window,  too, 
over  her  shoulder. 

"  Well  ?  "   said  she. 

"  Well  ?  "  answered  Captain  Wheelock, 
shaking  his  head. 

There  was  a  pause  while  Mrs.  Whee 
lock  went  over  to  her  accustomed  seat 
and  picked  up  her  knitting. 

"  She  is  n't  used  to  it,"  observed  the 
52 


Rod's  Salvation 

captain,  somewhat  apologetically.  "  It 's 
been  plain  sailing  up  to  now." 

"  Yes,"  assented  the  old  lady  calmly. 
"  This  is  a  voyage  to  learn." 

Then  they  sat  placidly  into  the  twilight, 
talking  now  about  this  little  matter,  then 
that,  while  the  girl  whom  they  both  loved 
was  absent,  "  taking  her  turn  at  the 
wheel,"  as  Captain  Trent  would  have 
said. 

It  did  not  take  Fayal  long  to  get  into 
the  open  country.  The  little  spot  of 
houses  was  soon  left  behind,  and  the 
wandering  road,  with  its  divisions  of  foot 
paths  twisting  about  in  the  grass  which 
here  and  there  spilled  over  the  low  white 
fences  from  the  small  door-yards,  became 
a  yet  more  wandering  guide  over  the  com 
mon  and  undivided  land.  Captain  Trent's 
house  was  the  last  one  in  this  direction, 
and  as  Fayal  passed  Mary  Jane  came  to 
the  open  door. 

"  Good-evening,  Fayal  Grant,"  she  said. 
"  Have  you  heard  that  Susan  Whitton's 
53 


Rod's  Salvation 

brother,  that 's  been  studying  so  hard  all 
winter,  sickened  and  died  yesterday,  over 
awn  the  mainland  ? " 

"  No,"  answered  Fayal,  leaning  on  the 
palings.  "  Why,  I  'm  so  sorry." 

"Yes;  the  news  came  this  forenoon. 
William  brought  it  over.  I  meant  to 
stawp  in  and  tell  you  before,  but  there  's 
been  a  heavy  sea  awn  all  day,  what  with 
getting  the  baking  done  and  having  Julia 
Spence  to  help  with  the  sewing." 

"  Poor  Susan  !     I  'm  so  sorry  for  her." 

"  Yes,  it 's  a  dreadful  thing ;  and  he 
was  a  very  pretty  young  man,  too." 

"  Yes,  he  was." 

"  And  very  well  educated,  too,  but 
you  'd  never  know  it." 

Fayal  assented  again,  sadly.  Both 
women  recognized  that  commendation 
could  go  no  further  than  this. 

"  Well,  they  say  he  '11  have  a  very 
handsome  obituary  notice  in  the  paper," 
declared  Mary  Jane,  with  a  cheerful  con 
fidence  that  even  death  may  have  its  com- 
54 


Rod's  Salvation 

pensations,  — "  a  very  handsome  notice 
indeed." 

"  I  'm  glad  of  that.  I  hope  it  will  be 
a  comfort  to  Susan."  Fayal's  voice 
dropped  into  a  somewhat  doubtful  into 
nation  as  she  turned  away.  Her  mind 
reverted  constantly  to  Susan,  as  she  picked 
her  way  over  the  deep  ruts  in  the  grassy 
roads,  to  turn  out  of  which  put  in  appar 
ently  imminent  peril  the  wheels  of  any 
adventurous  charioteer  as  well  as  his  own 
bones.  To  have  one's  brother  lying  dead 
in  one's  sight,  —  that  was  terrible!  Fayal 
had  had  no  experience  of  death  ;  it  was 
as  yet  only  a  fact  to  her,  not  a  reality ; 
but  she  knew,  at  least,  that  it  meant 
strangeness,  separation,  and  silence.  It 
was  better  even  to  see  Rod  loving  her 
less,  caring  less  for  her  companionship, 
than  to  have  him  gone,  to  live  without 
him,  —  oh,  a  thousand  times  better  !  Poor 
Susan  Whitton  ! 

But  Fayal  was  still  too  young,  too  un 
used  to  trouble,  to  find  consolation  in  the 
55 


Rod's  Salvation 

knowledge  that  there  were  worse  things 
than  that  she  was  undergoing  j  and  it 
was  sadly  enough  that,  having  reached  a 
point  where  the  sea  stretched  forth  on 
nearly  three  sides  of  her,  while  on  the 
other  the  level  land  was  unrolled  to  the 
horizon,  with  only  the  poor  little  huddled 
gray  houses  of  Seacove  in  the  near  distance 
to  break  the  lines  of  uniformity,  she  sank 
down  on  the  dry  grass,  and  looked  land 
ward  towards  the  sunset.  She  heard 
nothing  except  the  low  accompaniment 
that  was  never  wanting  at  Seacove,  the 
break  of  the  waves  on  the  beach.  As 
far  away  from  the  village  as  this,  even 
those  few  sounds  that  come  with  twilight 
were  lost,  —  the  tinkling  of  the  cowbells, 
the  shutting  of  doors  and  windows,  the 
good-nights  of  neighbors  called  to  each 
other  across  the  lanes.  There  were  rarely 
more  strident  noises  than  these  in  Seacove ; 
it  was  a  singularly  quiet  place,  and  the 
women  had  low  voices.  The  western 
heavens  were  bronze,  illuminated  with 
56 


Rod's  Salvation 

molten  gold,  and  in  the  midst  hung  the 
sun,  a  globe  of  crimson  fire,  with,  about 
it,  clouds  of  yellow  and  flaming  rose. 
Beneath,  the  earth  itself  glowed  with  a 
tender  color,  which  was  dark  only  when 
it  touched  the  radiance  of  the  sky.  As 
her  eyes,  dazzled  by  this  magnificence, 
turned  to  the  sea,  they  saw  there  a  tossing 
stretch  of  tinted  lights  and  shadows,  and 
a  pink  sky  over  it,  the  eastern  clouds  re 
flecting  the  western  brightness,  and  the 
mist  on  the  horizon  shimmering  with  the 
warmth  that  lay  before  its  face.  Perhaps 
Fayal  was  too  used  to  the  glory  of  Sea- 
cove  sunsets  to  be  much  moved  by  them, 
but  it  did  not  uplift  her  to-night.  The 
sun  sank  below  the  darker  earth,  the 
flaming  colors  disappeared,  as  she  sat 
there ;  the  blue  dropped  down  over  the 
green  and  lavender,  and  the  eastern  sky 
lost  its  pink  reflections  and  grew  slate- 
color  before  she  moved  at  all ;  then  she 
turned  her  head  quickly,  in  response  to 
a  voice  behind  her. 

57 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  I  have  found  you  at  last,  Fayal,"  said 
Dan  Farnor. 

Fayal  turned  slowly  away  again,  and 
did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  The  sky 
was  dark,  and  the  clouds,  which  had 
seemed  marshalled  only  to  contribute  to 
the  splendor  of  the  occasion,  showed  them 
selves  instead  opposing  and  dangerous 
forces  which  threatened  to  sweep  all  light 
from  the  earth.  The  sea  was  a  wide- 
stretching  gray  waste,  shrouded  by  a  mist ; 
no  longer  a  shimmering  veil  of  beauty,  but 
a  cold  swathing  garment,  which  would 
make  sight  and  motion  impossible. 

"  I  thought  you  went  over  to  the  main 
land  to-day,"  said  Fayal. 

"  So  I  did  go,  but  I  've  just  come  back." 
"  Did  you  bring  Rod  with  you  ?  " 
She   spoke   with   an   anxiety  which   she 
made   no  attempt   to   conceal.     She   was, 
however,  restraining  her  impulse  to    rush 
home    and    greet    her    brother.      She    had 
learned    lately   that   this   was    not    always 
the  best  thing  to  do. 
58 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Yes,  I  brought  Rod." 

There  was  a  contemptuous  carelessness 
in  his  voice  which  filled  Fayal  with  wild 
anger,  but,  with  instinctive  and  unusual 
self-control,  she  kept  silence.  She  was 
angry  with  herself,  as  well  as  with  him, 
that  she  had  framed  her  question  in  just 
that  way.  Farnor  seated  himself  beside 
her  on  the  ground. 

"  I  knew  you  did  n't  want  him  to  stay 
over  there  all  night,"  added  Farnor. 

Fayal  said  nothing.  She  was,  indeed, 
glad  that  Rod  was  at  home  again,  but  she 
would  give  this  man  no  thanks  for  it. 

"  I  guess  you  have  learned  that  I  can 
bring  him  home  to  you  about  when  I 
want  to,"  he  went  on. 

Fayal  flashed  an  indignant  glance  at  him. 

"  This  seems  to  be  a  voyage  to  learn," 
she  retorted,  unconsciously  making  use  of 
the  same  quaint  phrase  that  had  risen  to 
her  grandmother's  lips ;  "  and  I  guess 
you  've  learned  that  you  don't  get  much 
thanks  for  it." 

59 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  No,  that 's  a  fact,"  assented  the  man  ; 
"  but  they  '11  come  some  time,  when  you 
want  him  worse  than  you  have  yet." 

Fayal  turned  towards  him  again,  and 
swept  him  with  a  look  of  superb  disdain. 

u  You  think  that  I  '11  come  to  you  for 
him,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  will." 

Fayal's  form  was  slighter,  her  cheeks 
were  paler,  and  her  eyes  not  so  brilliant  as 
when  she  had  thrown  open  the  door  of  the 
club-room,  three  weeks  ago,  but  she  looked 
like  a  spirited  young  goddess  still,  as  she 
said  slowly, — 

"  So  you  're  threatening  me,  Dan 
Farnor  ? " 

"  I  '11  threaten  you  or  anything  else  to 
make  you  think  of  me,  and  acknowledge 
that  I  'm  something  to  you,"  was  the  dog 
ged  answer. 

"  So  that 's  the  way  the  people  where 

you  come  from  make  love,  is  it  ?      That 's 

not    the  way   to  talk   to    a   Seacove   girl, 

though.     We  're  used  to  men  down  here." 

60 


Rod's  Salvation 

The  contempt  in  her  voice  was  so  gen 
uine  that  it  touched  Farnor  as  perhaps 
nothing  else  would  have  done,  but  not  as 
it  would  have  touched  a  finer  man.  His 
self-love  was  of  the  sort  that  could  not  bear 
to  know  that  he  was  underrated. 

"  And  I  am  used  to  women,"  he  returned 
angrily  ;  "  and  I  know  there  are  other  ways 
of  making  a  girl  like  you  than  the  straight 
forward  way  you  are  used  to  down  here." 

It  was  a  foolish  boast,  and  Farnor's  sen 
sitiveness  to  ridicule  made  him  feel  that  it 
was,  after  he  had  made  it ;  but  he  believed 
it,  all  the  same.  Fayal  laughed  a  low, 
scornful  laugh,  which  she  would  have  been 
incapable  of  a  month  earlier. 

"  I  guess  you  need  n't  be  afraid  of  any 
body's  thinking  you  're  straightforward," 
she  said. 

"  I  don't  care  what  they  think,"  he 
rejoined  sullenly. 

"And  as  for  making  people  like  you, — 
well,  I  guess  you  might  as  well  go  at  it, 
next  time,  tilt  a  bucket, l  the  way  we  do 
61 


Rod's  Salvation 

here ; '  you  could  n't  have  worse  luck  than 
you  've  had."  Her  mocking  laugh  and  her 
words  were  maddening  to  the  man,  who, 
with  all  his  faults,  loved  her.  Moreover, 
he  had  made  more  than  one  mistake  this 
evening,  and  the  knowledge  of  this  irritated 
him  into  making  more. 

She  had  risen,  and  he  picked  himself  up 
too,  and  faced  her. 

"You  will  take  back  every  word  you 
have  said  to  me  to-night,"  he  asserted 
angrily. 

u  Do  you  think  I  will  ?  "  she  questioned 
contemptuously.  "  You  've  said  something 
like  that  before.  I  am  going  home  now," 
she  added. 

"  Going  to  find  Rod  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  defiantly,  "  to  find 
Rod." 

"  Fayal,  Fayal !  "  exclaimed  Farnor  pas 
sionately.  She  was  very  beautiful,  standing 
there  in  the  misty  twilight.  "  Why  do  you 
treat  me  like  an  enemy  ?  " 

u  Because  you  are  my  enemy." 
62 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  I  could  be  your  best  friend." 
"You  will  never  be  my  best  friend." 
"  I  can  bring  Rod  back  to  you." 
"  Rod  will  come  back   to   me  without 
your  help." 

She  spoke  confidently,  but  she  was  tired, 
—  tired  out.  She  was  utterly  unused  to 
emotional  crises.  She  would  have  left  him, 
but  he  followed  her,  and  they  walked  back 
in  an  almost  complete  silence,  which  he 
broke  at  the  door  of  the  Wheelock  cottage. 
"  I  told  you  you  'd  listen  to  me,  and  you 
have  listened  to  me,"  he  said.  "Now  I 
have  warned  you  twice,  and  it  is  no  use. 
Next  time  you  '11  talk  differently." 

His  vanity  told  him  that,  although  he 
undoubtedly  had  a  good  deal  of  power  in 
his  hands,  the  advantage  of  this  interview 
had  not  been  altogether  on  his  side.  Cer 
tain  of  her  words  and  looks  it  irked  him  to 
remember;  for  once  the  menace  in  his 
words  failed  to  rouse  her.  She  scarcely 
heard  him,  and  certainly  gave  no  heed  to 
what  he  might  or  might  not  be  saying ;  for 
63 


Rod's  Salvation 

she  had  looked  into  the  sitting-room  win 
dow,  and  had  seen  Rod  sitting  alone  in  the 
high-backed  rocker,  his  head  on  his  hand. 
Quickly  she  slipped  into  the  house,  and, 
without  a  word  or  look  at  Farnor,  shut  the 
door  behind  her,  and  left  him  standing  out 
side  in  the  misty  evening.  The  angry  man 
waited  an  instant,  with  the  annoying  con 
sciousness  that  his  last  shot  had  missed  fire, 
and  through  the  same  window  saw  her 
enter  the  sitting-room,  toss  off  the  shawl 
that  she  had  held  tightly  around  her  in  the 
chilly  evening,  and,  going  up  behind  Rod, 
lay  her  hand  softly  on  his  tumbled  curls. 
He  waited  to  see  no  more,  but  flung  him 
self  away,  down  the  tiny  lane.  He  had 
taken  a  path  from  which  all  such  manliness 
as  was  in  him  revolted ;  he  had  risked  some 
money  and  a  good  deal  of  reputation,  and 
had  fretted  through  many  a  tiresome  hour, 
in  this  stupid  hole,  as  he  characterized  Sea- 
cove, —  forgetting  that  places  where  we 
have  met  love  and  revenge  and  disappoint 
ment,  face  to  face,  can  hardly  be  called 
64 


Rod's  Salvation 

stupid  by  the  most  exacting  of  us.  All 
this  he  had  done,  and  was  doing,  for  the 
sake  of  a  woman  who  forgot  his  very 
existence  in  the  presence  of  a  silly  boy 
whose  weakness  he  had  made  his  tool,  and 
who,  unheeding  even  her  own  danger,  left 
him  outside  alone,  that  she  might  meet  this 
boy  with  a  caress  which,  he  told  himself, 
he  would  have  given  half  his  life  to  induce 
her  to  bestow  upon  him. 

VI 

IT  was  not  long  before  things  reached  a 
climax  which  Fayal,  had  she  been  older 
and  wiser,  might  have  foreseen,  and,  had 
she  been  less  single-minded  in  her  devo 
tion  and  a  shade  or  two  less  truthful, 
might  possibly  have  prevented. 

One  night  Rod  did  not  come  at  all.  As 
usual,  Fayal  sat  up  long  after  the  old  peo 
ple  had  gone  to  sleep,  with  that  apparent 
indifference  which,  to  her  youth  and  inten 
sity,  was  a  strange  and  an  unnatural  thing ; 
5  65 


Rod's  Salvation 

but  at  midnight,  an  unheard-of  hour  for 
Seacove  dissipation  to  prolong  itself  to,  she 
too,  exhausted  and  miserable,  dragged  her 
self  out  of  the  big  chair  and  crawled  into 
bed. 

With  one  of  those  intuitions,  strong 
where  love  is  strong,  she  felt  that  he 
would  not  come  home  that  night.  She 
was  sure  that  she  should  not  sleep,  but 
trouble  and  anxiety  had  not  yet  so  cowed 
the  riotous  health  that  was  her  birthright 
that  she  could  be  wakeful  through  the  long 
hours  which  lead  to  morning.  She  slept 
heavily,  but  waked  early  to  hear  Rod's  step 
outside  and  his  hand  on  the  latch.  In  a 
few  minutes  she  was  downstairs,  and,  enter 
ing  the  kitchen,  found  him  building  the  fire, 
his  usual  morning  duty.  He  did  not  turn 
to  greet  her  as  she  came  in,  but  poor  Fayal 
had  learned  to  do  without  the  almost  lover- 
like  demonstrations  which  had  formerly 
been  to  her  as  sun  and  air.  Yet  it  touched 
her  that  he  had  come  home  in  time  to  save 
her  the  trouble  of  making  the  fire,  as  he 
66 


Rod's  Salvation 

knew  she  would  have  done,  rather  than  let 
her  grandfather  suspect  his  absence.  She 
stepped  quickly  to  his  side. 

"  It  was  good  of  you,  Rod  — "  she 
began. 

u  Don't !  "  he  interrupted  sharply,  as  if 
she  had  hurt  him.  "  I  'm  not  good  to  do 
anything  !  Don't  say  it."  Then  he  re 
covered  himself,  and  glanced  up  at  her 
only  to  look  down  again,  and  resume  in 
an  altered  voice,  "  You  gave  me  a  start, 
Fay,  coming  in  like  that." 

Fayal  stood  astonished,  dismayed,  by  the 
change  in  him.  His  face  was  pale  and 
haggard,  with  purple  lines  under  his  blue 
eyes,  and  a  worried,  apprehensive  look 
strayed  about  his  eyes  and  mouth.  More 
over,  there  was  something  else,  —  inde 
finable,  unmistakable, —  something  which 
went  straight  to  Fayal's  heart,  bringing  a 
feeling  of  dread ;  something  in  his  looks 
and  voice  which  indicated  mysteriously  that 
here  was  no  longer  the  petulance  of  a  boy, 
but  the  misery  of  a  man.  She  sank  down 
67 


Rod's  Salvation 

beside  him,  the  old  protecting  feeling  strong 
as  ever,  but  with  a  certain  new  helplessness 
which  suggested  that  this  was  a  trouble 
from  which  she  might  not  be  able  to  save 
him.  Her  arms  about  his  neck,  she  said, — 

"  Tell  me,  Rod,  what  is  it  ?  Perhaps 
we  can  do  something." 

"  What  makes  you  think  there  is  any 
thing  to  tell  ?  "  he  said  quickly ;  but  he  did 
not  push  her  away,  as  he  sometimes  did. 
Instead,  he  rested  his  dishevelled  curly 
head  against  her  in  a  tired  sort  of  way, 
which  was  balm  to  Fayal's  heart.  It 
brought  him  back  to  her  for  the  moment. 
In  fact,  the  boy  was  utterly  exhausted ; 
excited,  disturbed,  exultant,  and  depressed 
as  he  had  been  for  the  last  weeks,  this 
night's  vigil  had  taken  away  his  remaining 
strength. 

"  Oh,  Rod,  as  if  I  would  n't  know  !  " 
said  Fayal  softly. 

"  There  is  nothing,  —  nothing,"  he  said, 
moving  his  head  restlessly,  and  then  relaps 
ing  into  quiet. 

68 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing  has  happened." 

"But  just  think, —  you  have  been  out 
all  night." 

Fayal  spoke  a  little  timidly.  She  was  so 
afraid  to  disturb  what  seemed  like  their  old 
affection. 

"  Never  mind.  Don't  ask  questions, 
Fay,"  he  answered  wearily. 

Her  lips  were  closed,  but  her  heart  cried 
out  against  this  dreadful  helplessness.  Rod 
was  in  trouble,  and  she  could  do  nothing 
for  him  !  In  all  her  young  life  she  had 
never  dreamed  of  such  a  catastrophe.  His 
silence  continued,  and  in  a  few  moments 
they  heard  the  heavy  step  of  Captain 
Wheelock  in  the  next  room.  Rod  roused 
himself,  and  Fayal  went  about  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  early  breakfast.  After  the 
meal  was  over,  she  stood  a  moment  in  the 
doorway,  looking  out  over  the  shining  sea. 
Rod  was  beside  her,  knocking  a  nail  or 
two  into  a  loose  shingle.  He  had  been  on 
his  way  out,  as  usual,  when  his  grand- 
69 


Rod's  Salvation 

mother  had  stopped  him,  and  asked  him  to 
attend  to  this  small  matter.  A  man's  figure 
turned  into  the  little  side  lane  that  led  down 
to  the  bluff,  and  thence  by  wooden  steps  to 
the  sand  below. 

"  There  is  Dan  Farnor,"  said  Fayal. 

Rod  turned  so  suddenly  that  he  almost 
dropped  the  hammer. 

u  Seems  to  me  you  can  sight  him  'most 
any  time  of  day."  She  spoke  with  uncon 
cealed  aversion  ;  evidently  he  was  a  blot  on 
the  face  of  nature. 

11  Coming  here  ?  "  asked  Rod. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  so.  He  never  seems  to 
get  time  for  a  longer  cruise." 

She  spoke  with  more  open  contempt 
than  was  usual  with  her  before  Rod.  Dan 
Farnor's  name  had  been  practically  tabooed 
of  late.  This  morning,  however,  her  deep 
resentment  got  the  better  of  her;  besides, 
in  spite  of  his  silence,  Rod  and  she  had 
drawn  a  little  nearer  together,  though  the 
heavy  curtain  of  dread  and  anxiety  still  shut 
out  hope  and  joy. 

70 


Rod's  Salvation 

"Look  here, Fay,"  —  Rod  spoke  rapidly, 
and  looked  straight  up  into  her  eyes  for  the 
first  time  that  day;  "don't  go  to  sending 
Dan  Farnor  all  adrift,  —  not  till  this  blow 
is  over,  anyway." 

"  He  's  a  pretty  poor  mate  for  either  of 
us." 

"  Perhaps  he  is,  and  perhaps  he  is  n't," 
answered  Rod  doggedly.  "  Anyhow,  I  've 
shipped  with  him  for  a  while,  and  I  wish 
you  would  n't  give  him  the  go-by  every 
time  he  speaks  to  you,"  and  Rod  struck 
the  hammer  hard  into  the  wall,  so  that  the 
whole  house  quivered. 

"  My  land  !  "  said  old  Mrs.  Wheelock, 
out  of  the  window.  "  There  's  no  call  to 
knock  away  the  timbers  under  her  just  yet." 

There  was  a  look  of  ungracious  triumph 
in  Farnor's  eyes,  as  he  paused  before  them 
and  glanced  at  Rod,  who  met  his  look  for 
an  instant,  and  then  turned  off  and  leaned 
his  arms  idly  against  the  low  fence,  swing 
ing  his  hammer,  with  his  back  towards  the 
other  two. 


Rod's  Salvation 

Fayal  stood  tall  and  straight,  her  hands 
falling  lightly  clasped  in  front  of  her,  look 
ing  down,  with  the  scorn  which  had  ani 
mated  her  in  their  last  interview  reviving 
in  her  eyes,  in  spite  of  Rod's  pleading. 
Nevertheless,  it  was  not  altogether  fearless 
this  morning.  Farnor  recognized  this  with 
a  thrill  of  pleasure.  The  fear  which  had 
haunted  her  since  her  first  look  at  Rod's 
face,  that  day,  could  not  be  driven  out 
before  the  man  whom  she  instinctively  felt 
to  be  responsible  for  it.  His  eyes  took  in 
her  beauty  with  an  intoxicating  sense  of 
ownership.  He  loved  her,  —  he  could  even 
be  sorry  for  her ;  but  she  should  learn  not 
to  put  him  in  belittling  situations;  after 
she  had  learned  that,  she  should  see  how 
he  could  love  her ! 

"  It 's  a  nice  sailing  morning,  Miss 
Fayal,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  answered  Fayal,  in  an  expres 
sionless  tone,  "  I  guess  it  is." 

u  We  've  been  having  good  weather, 
lately.  Let  me  see ;  the  moon  fulls  to- 
72 


Rod's  Salvation 

night,  don't  it  ?  "  went  on  Farnor  specu- 
latively. 

"Couldn't  tell  if  I  suffered,"  replied 
Fayal,  with  lamentable  want  of  interest. 

"  I  think  it  does.  Suppose  you  take  a 
walk  with  me  —  a  little  cruise,  as  you  say 
here  —  after  tea,  to-night,  and  see  if  it 
does  n't."  He  spoke  with  an  attempt  at 
easy  intimacy  which  it  annoyed  him  to  feel 
was  not  altogether  successful. 

"  You  need  n't  take  the  trouble  to  say 
what  we  say  here.  Nobody  '11  ever  take 
you  for  Seacove-born,"  remarked  Fayal. 
This  statement  from  the  mouth  of  a 
dweller  in  Seacove  was  never  meant  to 
be  flattering. 

Farnor's  cheek  flushed,  but  he  repeated 
his  question  quietly.  He  could  afford  to 
bide  his  time. 

"  Will  you  go  ?  " 

Fayal's  evasive  answer  had  not  been 
without  its  motive.  She  hated  with  all 
her  undisciplined  soul  to  yield  in  the  small 
est  matter  to  this  detested  man,  but  she 
73 


Rod's  Salvation 

had  caught  a  pleading  glance  from  Rod,  as, 
with  apparent  inattention,  he  had  listened 
to  Farnor's  question,  and  she  herself  was 
troubled  by  a  new  and  strange  emotion, — 
she  was  afraid.  If  she  had  known  of  what 
she  was  afraid,  the  fear  might  have  van 
ished.  It  was  not  of  this  man  personally, 
and  yet  he  had  the  power  to  inspire  her 
with  this  mysterious  suggestion  of  dreadful 
possibilities.  She  did  not  know  just  what 
saving  rope  she  might  be  casting  from  her 
if  she  answered  as  she  would  fain  have 
done,  and  so  she  hesitated,  and  Farnor 
repeated  his  question. 

Distrust  your  first   impulses,  says  Tal 
leyrand;  they  are  almost  always  true  ones. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  will,"  she  answered, 
carelessly  enough  for  a  girl  who  had  no 
social  training,  only  feminine  instincts,  to 
teach  her  deception.  Then  she  went  into 
the  house  ;  angry,  helpless,  frightened,  and 
contemptuous,  she  could  trust  herself  no 
longer.  Rod  and  Farnor  exchanged  a  few 
words,  and  then  walked  away  together. 
74 


Rod's  Salvation 

"Well,  Fayal,"  said  Mrs.  Wheelock, 
her  bright  blue  eyes  scanning  the  girl  with 
placid  deliberation,  "  I  guess  you  'd  better 
make  you  a  cap  that  don't  muss  your  hair 
like  that  when  you  take  it  ofF.  You  cer 
tainly  do  look  like  split." 

VII 

THE  early  darkness  had  fallen,  and  the 
moon  was  just  rising  over  the  sea,  as 
Fayal  stepped  from  the  doorway  and 
turned  down  the  lane  with  Farnor.  They 
took  the  way  through  the  village  towards 
the  lighthouse  on  the  other  side.  The  air 
was  cool,  but  there  was  none  of  that  raw 
chilliness  which  breathes  through  autumn 
evenings  farther  inland.  The  shadows  of 
the  little  houses  lay  in  black  irregularity 
across  the  moonlit  road.  The  short  turns 
and  windings  were  so  many  mysterious 
paths  leading  to  what  might  be  anything, 
but  which  proved  to  be  nothing  at  all 
save  passages  into  further  grassy  moonlit 
75 


Rod's  Salvation 

roads,  with  black  shadows  checkering  their 
whiteness,  and  always  between  them  a 
glimpse  of  the  dancing,  gleaming,  moonlit 
sea. 

To  Farnor  there  was  in  this  walk  the 
suggestion  of  a  triumphal  procession,  but 
he  was  prevented  from  enjoying  it  to  its 
fullest  extent  by  the  unapproachable  at 
titude  of  the  girl  beside  him,  whose  light 
steps  led  her  at  an  even  swinging  pace 
over  sandy  road,  trodden  by-path,  and 
short-cropped  turf  alike.  Despite  the 
keen  weapon  he  carried,  and  that  she  as 
yet  knew  nothing  of,  he  could  not  feel 
secure  of  her  ;  there  was  a  firm  line  in  the 
shutting  of  the  mouth,  a  haughty  turn  in 
the  way  she  held  her  head,  that  forbade 
security. 

After  they  had  left  the  village  behind 
them,  their  way  lay  along  the  edge  of  the 
bluff,  which  here  rose  steeper,  while  the 
sea  washed  its  base.  Now  and  then  sand 
and  pebbles,  loosened  by  their  footsteps, 
rolled  down  the  steep  slope  into  the  foam. 
76 


Rod's  Salvation 

Here  and  there  it  was  dangerous  walking, 
so  close  ran  a  straggling  fence  to  the  edge 
of  the  bluff,  leaving  outside  it  a  narrow 
foothold,  in  its  nature  precarious,  as  it 
jutted  out  over  the  crumbling  earth,  ready, 
apparently,  to  break  off  under  a  light  foot 
fall.  Farnor  held  out  his  arm  to  steady 
her,  as  she  slipped,  with  catlike  agility, 
around  a  not  too  steady  post ;  but  she 
pushed  it  aside  with  a  scornful  indifference 
that  made  it  difficult  to  proffer  such  assist 
ance  a  second  time. 

"  There  's  no  call  to  dub  a  Seacove  girl 
going  round  here,"  she  said.  "You'd 
better  look  out  for  yourself." 

Indeed,  he  found  it  necessary  ;  and  it 
was  not  until  they  gained  the  open  ground 
beyond,  where  the  straggling  fence,  having 
imprudently  left  the  guiding  neighborhood 
of  the  bluff,  lost  itself  in  the  thick  low 
growth  of  grape  and  huckleberry,  that  he 
found  conversation  practicable.  Here  they 
stood  together,  for  Fayal  turned  and  faced 
him,  her  slight  figure  standing  dark  against 
77 


Rod's  Salvation 

the  uniformity  of  low  moor  and  level  sea, 
while  in  the  distance  rose  the  shaft  of  the 
lighthouse,  with  its  revolving  light  throw 
ing  broken  rays  upon  the  expanse  of 
waters. 

"  Well,  what  did  you  ask  me  to  come 
out  for,  Dan  Farnor  ?  " 

Farnor  hesitated ;  there  was  a  certain 
pleasure  in  holding  back  a  moment. 

"  Is  n't  it  worth  while  to  come  out  just 
to  see  such  a  sight  as  this  ?  "  he  answered, 
waving  his  hand  towards  the  sea. 

Fayal  glanced  around  her,  shrugging  her 
shoulders.  She  knew  every  inch  of  that 
view,  and  loved  it  better  than  he  could; 
and  the  assumption  that  he  had  come  out 
to  show  it  to  her  was  irritating,  but  she  did 
not  put  the  feeling  into  words. 

"  And,  besides,  I  never  see  you  in  Sea- 
cove,"  went  on  Farnor.  "  But  I  suppose 
you  don't  think  that 's  much  of  a  reason, 
do  you  ?  " 

"  When  you  get  through  taking  sound 
ings,  and  know  where  you  are,"  said  Fayal 
78 


Rod's  Salvation 

deliberately,  "you  sing  out,  and  I  '11  listen 
to  you,"  and  she  walked  on  a  few  steps. 

"Well,  listen,  then."  Farnor  spoke 
with  more  decision.  "  I  brought  you  out 
here  —  " 

"  You  did  n't  bring  me ;  I  came,"  in 
terrupted  Fayal  contemptuously.  "  It  '11 
take  a  bigger  craft  than  you  are  to  tow 
me." 

Her  dread  of  what  he  might  be  going  to 
say  impelled  her  to  reckless  mockery.  She 
would  say  what  she  could  to  exasperate 
him  now;  she  might  be  silenced  later. 

"  To  tell  you  again  that  I  love  you  ;  to 
tell  you  that  this  time  you  shall  not  escape 
me ;  to  tell  you  that  you  are  helpless 
against  disgrace  without  me  ;  to  get  you  to 
make  me  a  promise." 

"  Reminds  me  of  Father  Abbey's  will," 
said  Fayal,  with  desperate  nonchalance, 
although  her  lips  were  white,  and  that 
dreadful  word  "disgrace"  had  tightened 
her  heartstrings  and  made  it  hard  to  breathe. 
"  There  are  so  many  important  things —  " 
79 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  I  have  come,"  broke  in  Farnor  brutally, 
provoked  beyond  self-control,  "  to  get  you 
to  buy  your  brother  Rod  out  of  state's 
prison  by  promising  to  be  my  wife  !  " 

The  blow  did  its  work.  Fayal  stag 
gered  a  little,  but  recovered  herself  before 
he  could  touch  her.  She  knew  the  worst 
now,  and  the  worst  was  bad  beyond  her 
half-formed  anticipations. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  gasped. 
The  moonlit  sea  had  come  up  to  her  feet 
and  receded,  and  the  lighthouse  had  toppled 
over  and  righted  itself  again,  before  she  spoke. 

"  I  mean  this,"  said  Farnor  doggedly  ; 
"  that  your  brother  Rod,  having  gambled 
away  more  than  all  his  money  to  me,  has 
forged  your  grandfather's  name  to  a  check, 
and  that  I  have  it  here,"  and  he  drew  out 
his  pocket-book,  and  took  from  it  a  folded 
paper.  He  was  half  ashamed  of  his  bru 
tality  ;  it  was  not  in  just  such  ways  that 
he  usually  recommended  himself  to  women, 
but  now  that  he  had  begun  her  eyes  com 
manded  him  to  finish.  "  Give  me  the 
80 


Rod's  Salvation 

promise  I  want,  and  you  can  have  it, — 
tear  it  up,  give  it  back  to  Rod,  anything 
you  like  :  you  will  never  hear  of  it  again 
from  me." 

Farnor  really  thought  himself  generous 
in  making  this  statement. 

"  Let  me  see  it,"    said    Fayal  huskily. 

He  handed  her  the  bit  of  paper,  and  she 
gazed  at  it  blankly,  but  seeing  every  word. 
It  might  not  have  been  a  wise  or  a  safe 
thing  for  a  man  in  Farnor's  position  to  do, 
to  place  such  a  perishable  bit  of  evidence 
in  the  hands  of  a  desperate  woman  ;  but 
not  for  a  moment  did  even  he  misjudge 
Fayal.  There  were  the  unmistakable 
words,  —  a  promise  to  pay  one  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  to  Daniel  S.  Farnor  or 
bearer,  signed  "  Amos  Wheelock "  in  a 
pretty  fair  imitation  of  the  old  captain's 
cramped  hand.  One  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  !  Fayal  had  never  seen  so  much 
money  in  her  life.  Had  Rod  lost  his 
senses,  that  he  dared  to  palter  with  such 
vast  sums  ? 

6  8 1 


Rod's  Salvation 

As  the  girl  stood  there  with  the  bit  of 
paper  fluttering  in  her  hand,  instead  of 
the  dark  water,  and  the  silver  radiance,  and 
the  level  stretch  of  gloomy  moor,  she  saw 
the  scene  in  the  cottage  as  it  might  be,  as 
it  would  be  !  —  the  scene  that,  she  realized 
with  a  thrill  of  suffering  sympathy,  must 
have  been  before  Rod's  eyes  every  hour 
since  he  traced  those  ineffaceable  words. 
"  Amos  Wheelock,"  —  she  looked  at  the 
crooked  characters  again.  No  wonder  the 
letters  were  somewhat  cramped  and  waver 
ing.  The  signature  from  which  they  were 
copied  was  that  of  a  hand  sturdy  and 
weather-beaten,  used  to  hard  work,  and 
hard  blows  if  need  be,  and  hard  service  in 
icy  seas,  but  which  would  have  shrunk 
from  a  touch  of  dishonesty  as  quickly  as 
the  delicate  fingers  of  a  scrupulous  woman. 
What  would  it  be  to  Captain  Wheelock 
when  he  knew  that  his  grandson,  his  daugh 
ter's  child,  had  not  hesitated  at  a  crime 
from  which  unprincipled  sinners  sometimes 
shrink  ?  She  was  too  ignorant  of  business 
82 


Rod's  Salvation 

to  know  that  the  fraud  was  too  unskilful 
to  be  sure  of  success,  or  of  anything  like 
it.  If  she  had,  it  would  have  made  little 
difference ;  her  grandfather's  heart  would 
go  as  near  to  being  broken  in  one  case  as 
in  the  other.  Then  her  grandmother ! 
She  had  to  the  full  the  placid  calm  that  the 
sea  seems  to  teach  the  women  who  live  by 
it ;  but  Seacove  placidity  was  not  proof 
against  an  attack  of  this  kind ;  this  was 
a  sort  of  trouble  Seacove  women  never 
"  shipped  for."  And  Rod  !  poor  Rod,  poor 
boy  !  What  would  life  be  worth  to  him  if 
this  were  known  ?  He  would  have  to  go 
away,  of  course  ;  and  to  Fayal  going  away 
from  her  own  little  corner  of  the  world 
meant  expatriation  as  much  as  if  it  had 
been  a  larger  one.  But  where  could  he 
go  ?  As  for  herself,  —  why,  she  should 
die  without  him !  The  uncertainty,  the 
anxiety,  of  these  last  weeks  were  killing 
her,  she  felt  sure.  It  was  too  hard,  it  was 
too  dreadful  !  Her  heart  cried  out  again  at 
the  truth  of  it.  Her  glance  fell  again  upon 
83 


Rod's  Salvation 

the  bit  of  paper,  and  she  held  it  out  to 
Farnor,  while  her  eyes  travelled  over  the 
silver  path  beyond  the  dark  waters,  and 
with  incongruous  recollection  she  fancied 
herself  the  funny,  sad  little  mermaid  over 
Captain  Small's  door,  who  longed  with  all 
her  red,  white,  and  blue  soul  to  be  on  the 
sea  again.  Perhaps  somewhere  away  from 
here,  somewhere,  there  was  a  place  — 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it  ?  " 
said  Farnor's  voice,  half  mocking,  half 
pitying,  at  her  side. 

She  came  back  to  realities  with  a  throb. 
"  I  think  you  are  a  coward  !  "  she  an 
swered  suddenly.  So  intense  was  her 
tone  that  the  words  rang  through  the  air 
as  if  a  bullet  had  whizzed  by  his  ear. 

"  You  've  said  as  much  before,"  he  re 
plied.  "  I  want  to  know  what  you  are 
going  to  do." 

"  You  mean  that  if  I  don't  make  you 
the  promise  you  want,  you  will  show  that 
piece  of  paper — you  will  —  " 

"Will  take  it  over  to  the  mainland 
84 


Rod's  Salvation 

to  the  bank  j  or  else,  to  smooth  matters 
over,  I  '11  take  it  direct  to  Captain  Whee- 
lock  himself." 

Fayal  shuddered,  as  if  she  had  been  struck. 

"  But  if  we  pay  you  back,"  she  began 
eagerly,  "  Rod  and  I  ?  We  can  ;  only 
give  us  time." 

Farnor  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
u  It  is  n't  the  money  I  want,"  he  said. 
"  I  want  your  promise ;  and,"  he  added, 
with  a  muttered  word  or  two  she  did  not 
hear,  "  have  it  I  will,  or  else  that  brother 
of  yours  will  make  up  to  me  for  it." 

The  struggle  was  three  parts  over. 
Fayal  thought  there  was  but  one  thing 
she  could  not  bear. 

"  Do  you  want  a  wife  that  will  hate 
you  every  hour  of  her  life  ? "  she  de 
manded,  — "  that  will  curse  the  hour  she 
first  saw  you  ?  " 

"  I  want  you." 

"  One  that  will  despise  you,  and  will 
never  look  at  yours  when  there  is  another 
face  she  can  turn  to  ?  " 

85 


Rod's  Salvation 

Farnor  winced  a  little.  The  girl  was 
cruel  in  her  way,  too.  But  he  answered 
again,  "  I  want  you,  Fayal,  whatever 
you  do." 

"  Do  you  want  a  wife  that  would  throw 
you  overboard,  and  never  give  you  a  rope 
to  cling  to,  for  the  sake  of  lightening 
the  ship  for  Rod  Grant :  "  she  went  on 
relentlessly. 

«  We  '11  see  about  that  later,*'  said  Far 
nor  sullenly,  who  could  not  let  pass  alto 
gether  unnoticed  so  keen  an  affront  to  his 
vanity.  u  I  want  your  promise,  and  I 
want  you." 

"  So  that 's  the  kind  of  wives  your  sort 
of  men  want  ? "  said  Fayal,  with  swift 
scorn.  tt  You  want  a  wife  that  cares 
more  for  her  brother's  little  finger  than 
for  your  whole  body  and  soul !  "  she  added, 
as  if  it  were  an  unimportant  afterthought. 

Probably  Fayal  could  never  know  how 
much  Farnor  had  to  bear  that  night.  For 
a  man  of  sensitive  vanity,  such  unmiti 
gated  contempt  from  the  woman  he  loved 
86 


Rod's  Salvation 

could  not  be  easy  to  undergo,  even  though 
he  held  the  winning  cards  in  his  hand. 
But  he  answered  persistently,  "  You  know 
what  I  Ve  said,  Fayal,  and  I  stand  to  it." 

The  moon  was  declining  towards  the 
west.  They  had  been  out  a  long  time. 
The  whole  world  grew  dimmer,  for  the 
clouds  were  coming  up  from  the  south, 
and  now  and  then  fluttered  across  the 
face  of  the  moon.  The  tide  was  at  the 
full,  and  broke  more  noisily  below  them. 

"  Then,"  said  Fayal  suddenly,  her  face 
white,  but  her  eyes  ablaze,  u  I  will  be  your 
wife !  I  give  you  my  promise,  and  I 
throw  it  to  you  as  I  would  a  bone  to 
a  dog  !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  In  spite 
of  himself,  Farnor  was  startled  by  the  vic 
tory  he  had  gained.  It  was  difficult  to 
feel  that  there  were  laurels  on  his  brow, 
and  yet  it  was  a  triumph.  She  had  made 
him  the  promise,  and  the  fact  that  she 
would  rather  have  died  did  not  detract 
from  its  value.  It  was  Fayal  who  broke 
87 


Rod's  Salvation 

the  silence.  She  sank  down  in  a  little 
heap  on  the  ground,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Rod  !  "  she  cried.  "  Rod,  Rod, 
I  love  you  so  !  " 

It  would  have  angered  her  to  give  way 
before  this  man,  if  she  had  thought  of 
him.  But  for  the  moment  even  her  mis 
ery  was  forgotten,  and  she  remembered 
only  the  boy  who,  she  felt,  now  that  she 
had  saved  him,  might  come  back  to  her. 

Her  tears  changed  Farnor's  mood,  as 
women's  tears  will  change  a  man's  mood 
one  way  or  the  other. 

"Oh,  Fayal,"  he  said,  sinking  down 
beside  her,  "  do  not  be  so  hard  on  me. 
You  have  always  been  so  hard !  Try 
to  feel  how  I  love  you  !  It  will  not  be 
anything  dreadful  to  let  me  love  you.  I 
will  make  you  happy,  dear.  I  will  in 
deed.  I  have  done  it  all  for  love  of  you, 
because  you  would  not  let  me  come  near 
you  any  other  way  !  " 

He  would  have  taken  her  into  his  arms, 
but  she  seemed  more  unapproachable  than 


Rod's  Salvation 

ever,  now  that  she  had  yielded,  and  some 
thing  held  him  away.  She  did  not  heed 
him,  and  finally  he  stopped  making  inco 
herent  protestations.  His  knowledge  of 
women,  though  not  so  deep  as  a  well  nor 
so  wide  as  a  church  door,  was  still  enough 
to  teach  him  that  whatever  mitigating  in 
fluences  her  spirit  might  become  subject 
to  must  be  exerted  later. 

It  was  not  long  before  she  too  grew 
quiet.  She  raised  her  head,  and,  looking 
into  his  eyes  with  an  utter  absence  of  con 
sciousness,  said  wearily,  "  Well,  I  guess 
you  have  what  you  wanted.  Give  me  the 
paper,  now." 

Had  what  he  wanted  !  The  uncon 
scious  mockery  of  the  words  fell  upon 
the  stormy  current  of  passion,  pity,  and 
remorseful  triumph  that  swept  through 
the  man's  soul.  Would  he  ever  have 
what  he  wanted  ?  Could  this  girl  ever 
conceive  what  the  love  was  that  he 
wanted,  for  which  he  had  given  so  much  ? 
In  the  moment  of  discouragement  his 
89 


Rod's  Salvation 

vanity  came  to  his  aid.  Oh,  yes,  she 
would  learn ;  he  had  nothing  to  do  now 
but  to  teach  her ! 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  holding  it  out 
to  her  for  the  second  time.  "  It  is 
yours,  to  do  what  you  like  with.  Tear  it 
up." 

"  No,"  she  answered,  rising,  "  I  shall 
keep  it,  and  you  shall  be  paid  — " 

"  I  am  paid  !  "  he  interrupted.  "  Oh, 
Fayal,  will  you  not  see  that  it  is  nothing 
to  me  now  ?  " 

"  But,"  she  went  on  immovably,  "  it 
shall  not  do  the  harm  you  meant  it  to. 
Good-by." 

" c  Good-by  ' !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  What 
do  you  mean  by  saying  good-by  now  ? 
I  'm  going  back  with  you." 

"  No  !  "  she  cried,  turning  towards  him, 
in  a  burst  of  fierce  impatience.  "  No, 
you  shall  not,  —  not  to-night !  I  will  not 
bear  it !  I  want  to  go  alone  !  I  want  to 
take  soundings,"  she  said,  with  that  sea 
faring  turn  of  speech  never  long  absent 
90 


Rod's  Salvation 

from  the  lips  of  Seacove  inhabitants,  "  and 
I  can't  do  it  with  you  alongside." 

Her  manner  was  so  vehement  that 
Farnor  paused,  in  spite  of  himself.  The 
usual  plea  that  she  could  not  be  allowed 
to  go  so  far  alone  so  late  at  night  would 
be  laughed  to  scorn. 

"  But  suppose  anything  should  hap 
pen,"  he  began. 

"  What  should  happen  ?  "  she  demanded 
superbly. 

Truly,  what  should  happen  ?  He  knew 
enough  of  Seacove  fashions  to  recognize 
the  fact  that  Seacove  women  of  all  ages 
went  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the 
primitive  little  village  at  all  hours,  with 
not  so  much  as  a  thought  of  any  attendant 
unpleasantness.  Nevertheless,  he  began 
another  protest.  She  interrupted  him  :  — 
"  If  you  stir  from  here,  Dan  Farnor, 
or  try  to  hail  me,  till  I  've  had  time  to 
get  down  past  John  Small's,  you  can  have 
your  prize  money  back  again,  and  I  '11 
have  my  promise  back  again,  and  Rod 
91 


Rod's  Salvation 

and  I  '11  pull  through  somehow,  though 
the  wind  is  dead  ahead  !  " 

It  was  the  old  Fayal  who  flung  him 
this  defiance.  She  threw  her  head  back ; 
her  eyes  sparkled,  and  her  sweet,  strong 
young  voice  thrilled  with  the  stress  of 
her  anger.  She  had  borne  all  she  could, 
and  the  thought  of  longer  companionship 
with  this  man  whom  she  hated,  and  yet 
whom  she  had  promised  to  endure,  brought 
a  shock  of  reaction.  It  warned  Farnor 
not  to  let  victory  slip  from  him  at  the 
moment  of  attainment,  and  he  stepped 
back  in  sign  of  sullen  acquiescence. 

She  turned  and  walked  swiftly  home 
ward,  the  bit  of  paper  grasped  tightly  in 
her  hand.  She  would  show  it  to  Rod, 
tell  him  that  everything  was  safe,  and 
they  would  have  some  happy  days  to 
gether  again  before  they  need  think  of 
anything  else, —  anything  that  shut  off 
into  desolate  obscurity  the  after-years  of 
her  life.  She  would  not  think  of  that ; 
she  would  only  think  that  Rod  was  saved. 
92 


Rod's  Salvation 

One  such  lesson  was  enough,  she  was 
sure ;  he  would  never  do  a  second  time 
anything  that  would  bring  into  his  face 
that  terrified,  despairing  look  she  had  seen 
there  that  morning.  She  had  perfect  faith 
that  Rod  was  saved.  But  as  she  walked 
on,  in  the  light  of  the  setting  moon,  with 
the  surge  of  the  high  tide  beneath  her  and 
the  moors  stretching  away  into  "  undis- 
tinguishable  gray  "  at  her  side,  and  instead 
of  the  friendly  rays  of  the  lighthouse  only 
here  and  there,  in  the  village  before  her, 
the  faint  glimmer  of  a  belated  candle,  the 
heavy  consciousness  of  what  she  had  done 
settled  down  upon  her.  Yet  she  hardly 
knew  what  it  was.  Only  she  felt  dimly 
that  upon  the  freedom  of  her  life  had  been 
placed  fetters ;  that  she,  to  whom  affection 
for  others  had  been  as  natural  as  air,  had 
met  with  something  called  love,  which 
was  a  burden  and  a  nightmare ;  that  the 
man  against  whose  presence  her  soul  re 
volted  had  acquired  some  power  over  her, 
which,  deepest  humiliation  of  all,  she  had 
93 


Rod's  Salvation 

consented  to.  She  left  the  broad  path 
along  the  moor,  and  followed  wearily  the 
narrow  little  footpath  between  the  fence 
and  the  treacherous  edge  of  the  bluff. 
Her  eyes  were  blurred  by  bitter  tears,  as, 
at  a  place  where  the  path  was  narrowed 
to  two  or  three  inches,  the  sandy  earth 
crumbled  rapidly  away  under  her  feet. 
She  caught  at  the  fence  which  leaned  over 
the  descent,  but  her  hand  slipped  or  she 
lacked  the  usual  strength,  and  she  did  not 
save  herself.  Even  as  she  fell  she  was 
not  much  frightened ;  it  did  not  occur  to 
her  to  scream ;  it  was  a  question  only  of 
rolling  a  few  feet  down  the  sandy  bluff, 
and  she  was  too  tired  and  confused  to 
make  any  desperate  struggle.  But  the 
slope  was  steeper  here  than  at  any  other 
point,  and  with  the  smooth  round  pebbles 
which  rolled  noiselessly  down,  in  the  sud 
den  collapse  of  a  large  mass  of  the  over 
hanging  edge,  were  some  sharp,  jagged 
bits  of  stone,  which  had  not  yet  yielded 
to  the  friction  of  the  waves ;  and  as  Fayal, 
94 


Rod's   Salvation 

the  force  with  which  she  fell  increased  by 
her  effort  to  seize  the  support  of  the  fence, 
struck  heavily  almost  at  the  bottom  of 
the  bluff,  her  temple  came  sharply  in  con 
tact  with  such  a  flint-like  edge,  and  with 
a  little  moan  of  pain  she  closed  her  eyes, 
and,  for  the  first  time  in  her  healthy  life, 
sank  into  utter  unconsciousness. 


VIII 

THERE    they    found    her    early    the    next 
morning. 

It  was  Rod  who  gave  the  alarm.  He 
had  watched  and  waited  for  her  to  come 
home,  as  she  so  often  had  done  for  him ; 
and  then  had  fallen  asleep,  in  the  tall, 
stiff  chair,  to  awake,  dazed  and  frightened, 
at  daylight,  to  realize  that  Fayal  was  not 
there.  His  first  step  had  been  to  find 
Farnor,  who,  white  as  death,  shook  him 
roughly  by  the  shoulder  and  bade  him 
"  wake  up,"  when  he  cried  out  to  him  for 
news  of  his  sister.  The  man  could  tell 
95 


Rod's  Salvation 

him  nothing  except  that  she  left  him  safe 
and  well  the  night  before.  Farnor  had 
taken  the  same  way  home,  but  one  place 
was  so  like  another  that  he  had  not  no 
ticed  that  at  one  spot  the  earth  had  freshly 
caved  in,  and,  if  he  had,  would  not  have 
dreamed  of  danger  to  the  swift-footed  girl 
who  had  so  scornfully  rejected  his  offer 
of  help  a  short  time  before. 

They  did  not  think  of  looking  for  her 
near  the  path  for  some  time.  Farnor  and 
Rod  were  devoured  by  a  mutual  fear  that 
she  had  run  away  from  what  might  be 
disgrace,  and  was  sure  to  be  suffering. 
It  was  Captain  Wheelock  who  first  saw 
her  red  cap,  as  it  lay  beside  her  at  the 
foot  of  the  bluff.  He  stood  a  moment 
looking  down,  his  weather-beaten  face 
drawn  and  white  ;  then,  his  voice,  which 
had  rung  out  sturdily  in  so  many  fierce 
blasts  and  conflicts,  feebly  hailed  Captain 
Small. 

"  Come  here,  mate,"  the  old  man  called. 
"  Here  's  my  little  girl,  —  here  's  Fayal." 
96 


Rod's  Salvation 

They  did  not  think  at  first  she  could 
be  dead,  the  wound  on  her  temple  was 
apparently  so  slight  and  her  face  so  fair 
and  still;  but  in  a  few  moments  they  saw 
what  had  happened.  The  sea  that  Fayal 
had  loved  since  her  birth,  the  sea  of  which 
she  had  never  known  fear,  had  crept  up 
over  her  head,  as  she  lay  there  unresisting, 
and,  gently  rippling  over  the  beautiful 
features,  had  brought  her  through  the 
gates  of  unconsciousness  into  the  inner 
place  of  death.  Then,  receding  as  it  had 
come,  it  had  left  her  there  above  the  level 
of  the  low  tide,  but,  with  the  capricious 
friendliness  of  absolute  power,  had  with 
drawn  from  her  grasp  the  secret  she  would 
have  hidden,  to  keep  it  for  her  forever. 

The  bit  of  paper,  the  evidence  of  Rod's 
guilt  and  Farnor's  intrigue,  had  been 
washed  from  the  loosened  fingers,  and 
borne  away  beyond  the  grasp  of  human 
hands,  powerless  for  good  or  evil ;  but  its 
purpose  was  accomplished,  —  Fayal  had 
rescued  Rod.  The  all-wise  power  which 
7  97 


Rod's  Salvation 

had  decreed  that  her  self-sacrifice  should 
not  be  in  vain  touched,  through  her  death, 
with  no  uncertain  hand  the  impulses  for 
good  which  had  been  temporarily  sus 
pended,  together  with  the  adoring  love 
which  Rod  had  always  felt  for  Fayal. 

Rod  and  Farnor  did  not  exchange  many 
words  before  the  latter  left  finally  for  the 
mainland.  The  boy  did  not  know  just 
what  had  happened  that  night  between  the 
man  and  his  sister,  and  would  never,  per 
haps,  realize  how  thoroughly  Farnor  had 
been  his  enemy ;  but  some  instinct  told 
him  that  he  had  nothing  further  to  fear. 

"  Dan,"  said  he,  as  he  waited  with  him 
on  the  dock  for  the  incoming  boat,  "  I  '11 
pay  you  every  cent  of  that  money,  if  I 
live." 

Farnor  had  been  very  quiet  for  the  last 
three  or  four  days,  but  it  was  with  a  burst 
of  savage  impatience  that  he  turned  upon 
him. 

"  Curse  you  !  "  he  said.  "  Do  you 
suppose  I  ever  cared  for  the  money  or 
98 


Rod's  Salvation 

for  you,  you  young  scoundrel  ?  What  I 
did  I  did  for  the  sake  of  one  a  hair  of 
whose  head  was  worth  more  than  your 
whole  body ;  and  your  miserable  life  is 
left  you,  and  hers,"  —  the  man's  voice 
broke  in  spite  of  himself,  — "  hers  was 
dragged  from  her  by  our  accursed  selfish 
ness,  yours  and  mine !  Keep  still  about 
the  money,  can't  you  ?  " 

Rod  stared  at  him  in  a  hopeless,  help 
less  sort  of  way.  He  had  believed  this 
man  to  be  his  friend,  and  the  truth  added 
another  pang  to  what  he  was  undergoing. 
He  was  not  wise  enough  to  know  that  all 
Farnor's  disappointed  passion,  furious  re 
gret,  and  stinging  remorse  spoke  in  that 
final  outburst. 

IX 

A  WEEK  later,  at  the  Club,  Captain  Sash 
expressed  the  general  sentiment  when  he 
said,  — 

"  She  set  great  store  by  Rod.      I  think 
she  rated  him  'most  too  high." 
99 


Rod's  Salvation 

"  Women  do,"  said  Captain  Small,  with 
melancholy  intuition.  "  They  never  know 
what  sort  of  vessel  carries  the  best  kind 
of  ballast." 

"  But,  after  all,"  objected  Captain  Trent, 
"  he  ain't  sailing  as  close  to  the  wind  as 
he  was.  It 's  done  him  a  pile  of  good. 
Fayal "  —  and  Captain  Trent,  who  was 
a  soft-hearted  fellow,  wiped  his  eyes  with 
the  back  of  his  hand  —  "would  have  liked 
to  see  it." 

"  I  wish,"  said  Captain  Small  solemnly, 
"  that  she  had  been  married." 

There  was  a  pause.  Farnor's  figure 
came  before  the  eyes  of  each  one  of  the 
group,  and  they  could  not  coincide  with 
the  judgment  that  would  have  given  their 
favorite  to  Farnor. 

"  Yes,"  concluded  Captain  Small,  "  I 
wish  she  could  have  been  married  —  to 
a  husband." 

"  Yes,"  assented  one  after  the  other, 
"  that  would  have  been  better." 

This  form  of  statement  removed  their 


Rod's  Salvation 

objections.  Farnor  was  not  the  Seacove 
conception  of  a  husband.  He  might  have 
been  the  man  Fayal  Grant  married,  but 
that  was  all. 

Then  a  stillness  fell  upon  the  little  group, 
and  the  smoke  grew  denser  in  the  low-ceiled 
room,  and  no  one  broke  the  silence. 

Each  one  of  those  weather-beaten  old 
men,  hardened  to  danger  and  death,  trained 
in  rough  schools,  looking  upon  vicissi 
tude  as  the  breath  of  daily  life,  was 
longing  for  the  sight  of  a  young  figure, 
which  should  stand  on  the  threshold,  the 
door  swinging  open  before  her  with  a 
breath  of  keen  salt  air,  and,  superb  in 
youthful  health,  radiant  in  youthful  beauty, 
laugh  in  upon  their  deliberations. 

Fayal  Grant  had  been  their  tropics  and 
their  Italy,  and  now  that  she  came  no 
more  their  faithful  hearts  found  the  old 
seafaring  world  a  shade  the  grayer. 


Decline   and   Fall 

DEAR  FRANCES,  — I  am  here.  That  has 
often  the  air  of  a  self-evident  statement ; 
believe  me,  in  this  case,  it  is  not  one.  When  I 
climbed  out  of  the  stage  last  week,  after  being 
jolted  and  precipitated  and  playfully  tossed  and 
caught  again  for  twenty  miles  or  so,  it  was  a 
matter  for  serious  doubt  whether  I  was  all  here  or 
not.  But  I  think  I  am  —  all  essential  parts  of  me, 
at  least.  There  are  certain  airs  and  graces  which 
a  too  censorious  world  considers  essential  parts 
of  me  which  I  have  left  behind  somewhere  on 
the  road.  Never  mind  ;  I  shall  undoubtedly 
find  them  on  the  way  back  ;  they  are  not  the 
sort  of  property  to  tempt  the  rustic  of  the  region 
to  appropriation.  In  fact,  I  may  as  well  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it,  for  you  will  be  sure  to  find 
it  out.  I  am  at  present  having  an  acces  of  sim 
plicity  —  true,  unassumed,  unpicturesque  sim- 

102 


Decline  and  Fall 

plicity  —  simplicity  without  any  arriere  pensee 
whatever.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  longed 
for  this  opportunity  all  my  life  —  to  be  entirely 
natural,  without  giving  a  thought  to  how  my 
being  so  was  going  to  affect  anybody.  It  is 
not  only  that  I  eat  when  I  am  hungry,  and  go 
to  bed  when  I  am  tired,  and  sit  still  when  I  've 
a  mind,  but  it  has  reached  my  mental  attitude 
too.  I  don't  anticipate  or  plan,  and  I  don't 
see  why  anybody  should.  I  know  what  you  '11 
say  —  that  it  is  just  another  spell  of  "  feeling  the 
hollowness ' '  —  well,  perhaps  it  is ;  I  know  that 
same  old  emotion  turns  up  in  all  sorts  of  forms. 
Or  it  may  be  that  the  air  is  beginning  to  exert 
the  beneficial  effect  the  doctor  says  it  possesses. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  —  I  mean  the 
two  mistresses  of  the  house  —  are  amusing,  in 
fact,  likable.  They  are  both  little,  gray- 
haired,  widowed  women,  only  one  is  littler, 
grayer- haired,  and,  I  dare  say,  more  widowed 
than  the  other.  They  are  decidedly  women  of 
their  world,  only  it  reaches  each  of  them  in 
a  different  way.  The  one  to  whom  I  have 
hitherto  applied  the  comparative  degree  is  also 
the  younger,  and  it  is  she  that  has  the  imagi 
nation.  It  is  an  imagination  that  has  never 
been  developed  by  circumstances,  but  to  her 
103 


Decline  and  Fall 

what  is  emotional  or  abstract  or  picturesque 
appeals.  I  am  clever  to  have  found  this  out, 
because  it  is  difficult  to  recognize  the  emotional 
or  the  abstract  or  the  picturesque  in  the  mass 
of  detail  with  which  she  cumbers  her  narrative, 
but  I  have  found  it  out.  The  other  one  has 
a  burning  interest — though  sometimes  quenched 
by  the  ice-water  of  New  England  reticence 

—  in   purely   material    questions.      Where  do  I 
get     my     clothes  ?     I   think    that  is    about  the 
most  satisfactory  subject  with  her.      I  tell  her, 
and   then   I  feel  snubbed  because  she  has  never 
heard  of  the  places.      But  she  rolls  them  after 
ward  as  sweet  morsels  under  her  tongue,  which 
is    something  of  a   consolation.      Have  I  been 
unnecessarily     detailed      in      my      description  ? 
Well,   that    is    the    extent  of    my  social  envi 
ronment,    unless    you    count    the    people    who 
come   over  now   and   then  with  supplies,  with 
whom   I   always  exchange  a  word  or  two  from 
the  front  steps  —  that  is  part  of  the  simplicity, 
you  understand.      Oh,  yes,    there  is  one   other 

—  he     is    a    supply    himself  —  of   the    pulpit 
vn  the  "  Centre,"  four  miles  from  us.      Now,  I 
see   you   smile.      At  last,    you    say,    we    have 
come     to    the    human     interest.       No,    really, 
Frances  —  you  know  I  would  not  hesitate  to 

104 


Decline  and  Fall 

tell  you  if  it  were,  but  let  me  convince  you. 
He  lives  in  the  only  other  house  in  this  part 
of  the  country  —  boards  there,  while  he 
preaches  for  the  summer  in  the  aforesaid 
pulpit.  So  much  in  favor  of  your  theory,  I 
admit.  He  is  good-looking  —  quite  —  but 
with  an  expression  that  betokens  too  much 
confidence  in  life's  being  a  pleasant  thing  — 
you  know  the  kind  —  a  little  trusting,  if  any 
thing  ;  which  circumstance,  fully  considered, 
cannot  be  said  to  be  for  or  against.  But  listen. 
I  have  heard  him  preach ;  I  have  met  him 
once.  He  is  narrow,  opinionated,  the  plain, 
unvarnished  product  of  a  theological  seminary 
of  the  most  orthodox  proclivities.  Need  I 
say  more  ?  He  has  all  the  disadvantages  of 
the  unfledged  of  every  kind,  with  the  added 
hindrance  of  profound  conviction  that  he  has 
divine  warrant  for  ignorance  —  a  special  out 
growth  of  this  variety.  Were  the  magnificent, 
broad,  intellectual  clergymen  that  you  and  I  so 
much  admire  ever  incased  in  this  sort  of  shell, 
I  wonder!  I  feel  that  I  have  placed  the 
Reverend  Alfred  Neal  above  suspicion. 

Write  to  me,   dear,  and  I  will   continue  to 
tell  you  about  my  simplicity. 

Yours  always,  BETTY. 

I05 


Decline  and  Fall 

Miss  Everard  laid  down  her  pen  and 
sought  in  her  portfolio  for  an  envelope. 
Then  she  took  up  her  letter  and  read  it 
hastily  through.  "  Betty  !  "  she  said  to 
herself,  as  she  folded  and  addressed  it  to 
Miss  Waring,  "  that  is  not  a  name  to  be 
bestowed  under  a  republican  government. 
It  ought  to  have  '  Lady '  before  it,  and 
then  it  suggests  powder  and  plumes  and 
patches.  Lady  Betty  !  How  pretty  she 
would  be  in  a  ruff  and  high  red-heeled 
shoes  !  "  She  had  risen  while  she  solilo 
quized,  and,  placing  her  stamped  and 
sealed  letter  upon  her  dressing-table,  she 
glanced  in  the  mirror.  "  But  just  plain 
Betty !  Well,  perhaps  not  hopelessly 
plain  Betty  —  "  and  she  smiled  calmly 
at  her  own  reflection,  "  but  unpowdered, 
unplumed,  unpatched,  nineteenth-century 
Betty  —  that  is  highly  inappropriate." 

She   sauntered   indolently   to  the    small 

window    and    looked   across    at    the    pine 

woods,  whose    fragrant,  spicy  breath  came 

into  the   room    below  the   slightly    raised 

106 


Decline  and  Fall 

sash.     It  was    one   of  those  windows   to 
open    which    demands   strength  which   is 
as  the  strength  of  ten,  and  which,  when 
opened,    refuse    to    be    closed    again    save 
with  the  velocity   and   archaic   force  of  a 
battering-ram.      "  I  have  been  used,"  pon 
dered   Miss   Everard,  with  that  volatility 
which   comes  with  the  accomplishment  of 
a  definite  duty,   "  to   windows  which   re 
mained   up  without  visible  means  of  sup 
port.     Since   I   came  to  Kenyon's  I  have 
learned  better.     It  seems   to  me  that  one 
volume  of  Roman  history  and  a   hairbrush 
don't  keep  that  window  up  high  enough." 
She  gazed  idly  round  the  room.      "  I  guess 
one  of  my  second-best  slippers  will  about 
do    it,"   and  she   inserted  that  bit  of  per 
sonal  property,  with  no  mean  skill,  so  that 
the  high   heel   raised  the   window  two  or 
three  inches  farther.     "  That  is  n't  much," 
she    concluded,  somewhat  warm   with  the 
effort,  "  but   it  is  something.      How  deli 
cious  that    pine    fragrance    is ! "  and    she 
bent   her  head  so  that  her  little  nose  drew 
107 


Decline  and  Fall 

in  long  breaths  of  the  sweet  air  through 
the  opening.  Then  she  walked  over 
again  to  the  dressing-table,  took  down  a 
broad  hat  which  hung  at  one  side,  and, 
picking  up  her  letter,  went  slowly  out  of 
the  room.  At  the  door  she  paused  and 
looked  back. 

"  I  suppose  that  window  will  come 
down,"  she  soliloquized,  still  idly,  "  and 
grind  that  slipper  and  the  hairbrush  to 
powder.  Never  mind.  Rome  can  stand 
it  —  and  they  must  have  hairbrushes  over 
at  the  4  Centre.'  '  There  was  an  in 
consequence  in  whatever  she  did  which 
was  itself  a  conscious  charm  for  her  in 
her  life  here.  It  was  a  delightful  sense, 
this  of  having  no  duties,  of  being  able 
to  saunter  from  table  to  window  and 
back  again,  to  put  on  her  hat,  and  make 
stop-gaps  of  useful  information  when  she 
chose,  after  the  hurry,  social,  intellectual, 
and  physical,  of  the  last  five  years. 

On  the  wide  door-stone,  in  two  little 
chairs,  sat  Mrs.  Mint  and  Mrs.  Thrum. 
108 


Decline  and  Fall 

It  demanded  a  trained  faculty  of  observa 
tion  to  immediately  recognize  the  fact  that 
these  two  chairs  were  just  alike.  It  struck 
most  people,  as  it  had  struck  Miss  Ever- 
ard,  that  they  were  totally  unlike,  and  it 
was  only  after  coming  across  them  several 
times  when  they  were  empty  that  one 
perceived  that  it  was  the  figures  of  their 
usual  occupants  which  imparted  this  air 
of  distinct  dissimilarity.  Now,  for  instance, 
Mrs.  Thrum's  was  an  alert,  inquisitive, 
somewhat  self-willed  rocking-chair,  as  she 
sat  on  the  edge  and  tipped  it  forward  to 
the  extreme  limit  of  equilibrium ;  when 
it  went  back  it  flew  back  suddenly,  as  if 
only  to  take  breath  for  another  prolonged 
pause  in  its  constrained  position  on  the 
front  end  of  the  rocker.  As  for  Mrs. 
Mint's,  hers  was  a  calm,  even-tempered, 
mildly  authoritative  chair.  It  moved 
slowly  back  and  forth,  and  asserted  itself 
no  further  than  by  way  of  gentle  accom 
paniment  to  the  statements  made  from  its 
depths.  Except  now  and  then  when  there 
109 


Decline  and   Fall 

was  a  pause,  then  it  furnished  suggestions 
of  its  own,  its  slow,  regular  motion  con 
veying  to  all  intelligent  minds  the  assur 
ance  that  the  world  went  on  just  about  as 
well  whether  we  looked  after  it  or  not,  and 
there  was  no  use  in  being  uncomfortable. 

"  Mrs.  Thrum,"  said  Miss  Everard's 
clear  voice  in  the  hall,  "  shall  I  leave  my 
letter  here  on  the  table  ?  or  is  it  too  late 
for  the  butcher  ?  " 

"  Land,  yes  ! "  said  Elvira  Thrum. 
"  He  was  here  before  you  was  up." 

"  But  Edward  has  n't  been  from  the 
store,  Elvira,"  suggested  her  sister. 

"  No,  and  he  won't  be  here  till  he 
thinks  I  've  forgot  that  he  brought  me 
cream  o'  tartar  and  labelled  it  saleratus," 
replied  Elvira,  somewhat  grimly. 

"  I  don't  know  as  he  will,"  assented 
Mrs.  Mint.  Betty  sauntered  to  the  door 
and  leaned  against  the  side,  with  the  letter 
still  in  her  hand,  pending  the  discussion 
of  its  chances.  Both  the  little  old  women 
turned  and  looked  up  at  her. 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  Perhaps  there  '11  be  somebody  along 
from  the  other  house,"  hazarded  Camilla, 
"  on  the  way  to  Centre.  You  might  stick 
it  in  the  railing  in  case  anybody  is." 

"  Are  those  cherries  artificial  ?  "  inquired 
Elvira. 

"  Cherries  ?  "  said  Betty.  "  Oh,  yes, 
very  artificial  indeed,"  and  she  put  up  her 
hand  and  pinched  one  of  the  red  orna 
ments  of  her  hat. 

"  I  would  n't  wonder,"  continued  Ca 
milla,  rocking  to  and  fro,  her  hands  folded 
in  her  lap,  "  but  what  Mr.  Neal  would  be 
going  on  down  this  morning.  He  calls  on 
old  Miss  StifF  pretty  regular." 

"  Did  you  buy  them  on  it  ? "  asked  Elvira. 

"  Er  —  yes  —  I  think  I  did,"  answered 
Betty,  "  and  yet,  I  'm  not  sure —  perhaps 
I  saw  them  somewhere  —  no,  I  'm  sure 
they  were  on  it."  Her  anxiety  to  please 
made  her  almost  painfully  conscientious. 

"  She  says  he  's  a   great  comfort  to  her. 
He  's  so  positive  in  his   faith,"  commented 
Mrs.  Mint,  with  satisfaction. 
in 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  I  suppose  you  most  always  buy  'em 
ready  made,"  asserted  Mrs.  Thrum. 

"  Yes,"  said  Betty,  conscious  that  this 
proceeding  would  have  its  objection,  "  it  is 
more  convenient,  you  know,  and  you  can 
tell  —  " 

"  All  the  faith  I  could  ever  see  that 
old  Miss  Stiff  had,"  interrupted  Elvira,  as 
her  rocking-chair  flew  back  once  and  then 
forward  again,  where  it  remained  poised, 
"  was  that  all  the  people  that  did  n't  agree 
with  her  'd  get  come  up  with." 

"  Something  like  David,"  remarked 
Camilla. 

"  I  don't  know  as  Mr.  Neal  'd  get  along 
any  too  well  with  David,"  said  Elvira, 
with  a  certain  amount  of  irrelevance.  "  I 
got  my  last  bonnet  ready  made,  and  it 
looked  like  a  peck  measure  when  I  got  it 
home." 

"  They  look  very  differently  when  one 
gets  them  home,"  answered  Betty. 

She  stood  smiling  down  on  her  two 
diminutive  companions  as  she  spoke,  tap- 


Decline  and  Fall 

ping  her  belated  letter  against  her  small 
white  teeth,  her  dainty  yellow  gown  turned 
away  at  the  throat,  where  the  cream-col 
ored  embroidery  was  caught  together  with 
a  gold  pin,  the  only  ornament  she  wore. 
Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  glanced  up 
the  road. 

"Suppose  I  should  walk  over  to  Centre 
myself,"  she  suggested.  The  gate  of  the 
"other  house,"  the  one  just  beyond  the 
bend  of  the  road,  creaked  as  it  was  pulled 
open.  They  could  always  hear  that  gate 
creak.  Camilla  turned  and  looked  up  the 
road. 

"  Here  comes  Mr.  Neal  now,"  she  said, 
placidly.  Betty  did  not  change  her  posi 
tion  as  she  watched  the  young  man  come 
briskly  toward  them,  but  her  smile  grew 
more  amused.  He  was  quite  conscious  of 
the  scrutiny  he  was  undergoing,  and  as  he 
raised  his  hat,  just  opposite  the  door,  his 
face  was  flushed,  and  he  spoke  with  an 
embarrassed  little  laugh. 

"  Good-morning,  ladies,"  he  said.  "  Can 
8  11 


Decline  and  Fall 

I  be  of  any  service  ?      I  am  going   to   the 
Centre." 

He  was  a  tall  man,  too  slight  for  his 
height ;  his  clothes  were  evidently  carefully 
put  on,  and  his  expression  was  somewhat 
provokingly  amiable,  as  Betty  had  hinted 
to  Miss  Waring.  His  manner  and  ap 
pearance  indicated  that  somewhat  uneasy 
consciousness  of  externals  which,  by  some 
apparent  injustice,  seems  to  be  a  part  of 
those  who,  it  is  conceded,  are  specially  oc 
cupied  with  the  hidden  and  the  vital.  He 
looked  at  Betty  as  he  spoke,  as  most  men 
would  have  done  in  his  place,  and,  meeting 
her  gay  little  nod  of  greeting,  immediately 
turned  his  eyes  away  and  looked  question- 
ingly  at  Elvira  and  Camilla.  He  even 
contrived  to  convey  a  slight  shade  of  dis 
approval  in  the  way  in  which  he  did  this. 
Possibly  her  smile  and  nod  were  too  gay ; 
possibly,  in  spite  of  their  gayety,  they  were 
too  indifferent,  too  suggestive  of  this  per 
son's  proneness  to  take  life  easily,  and  to 
consider  morning  meetings  with  young 
114 


Decline  and  Fall 

clergymen  as  destitute  of  any  profound 
importance. 

"  Did  you  sit  up  with  Mr.  Thomas  last 
night  ?  "  asked  Elvira. 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  he  replied,  with  solemnity. 

"  Did  he  die  in  the  night  ?  "  she  asked 
quickly,  before  Camilla  could  speak. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  he  's  better  this  morning." 

"  Is  ?  "  Perhaps  there  was  a  shade  of 
disappointment  in  this  observation,  but  not 
more  than  was  entirely  natural. 

"  The  Thomases  always  had  rheumatic 
fever  as  a  family,"  said  Camilla.  "  Reu 
ben  Thomas's  father  had  it  twice.  I  said 
to  him  once  —  it  was  when  we  lived,  my 
husband  and  I,  in  Whitney;  that  was  before 
my  husband  went  into  business  with  his 
brother  and  we  had  the  little  house  that 
set  back  from  the  street,  and  Pelatiah, 
that 's  Reuben  Thomas's  father,  used  to 
drive  by  every  day  with  "  —  Elvira's  rock 
ing-chair  had  hung  fire  long  enough. 
"  Here  's  Miss  Everard,"  she  said,  "  talk 
ing  about  walking  over  to  Centre  herself." 


Decline  and  Fall 

Camilla  looked  at  her  sister  with  mild 
reproof,  but  met  no  glance  of  apology. 
Elvira  was  looking  at  Mr.  Neal  and  re 
volving  another  question.  Neal  had  not 
raised  his  eyes  to  Betty's  a  second  time, 
but,  as  he  listened  respectfully  to  the  sis 
ters,  he  was  conscious  to  his  finger-tips 
that  she  was  watching  him  from  the  van 
tage  of  the  threshold,  with  that  same 
tantalizing  little  smile.  Elvira's  remark 
necessitated  his  addressing  her. 

"  Can  I  —  will  you  —  "  he  began,  look 
ing  up  and  stammering  a  little  in  his 
embarrassment.  She  waited  a  moment, 
but  he  did  not  finish  his  sentence.  The 
day  was  warm  and  damp,  and  his  hair,  a 
trifle  longer  than  fashion  demands,  had 
curled  into  little  rings  about  his  forehead, 
giving  him  a  very  boyish  look. 

"  How  nice  to  have  your  hair  curl  like 
that !  "  she  said.  "  Just  nothing  but  the 
weather  !  " 

The  soul  of  the  Reverend  Alfred  Neal 
quivered  with  resentful  confusion,  but  he 
116 


Decline  and  Fall 

found  no  words  with  which  to  assert  his 
dignity,  and  grew  scarlet  under  the  mock 
ing  brightness  of  Betty's  sweet  smile. 

"Well,  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Thrum. 
Neither  she  nor  Mrs.  Mint  felt  the 
indignity. 

"  Do  you  do  yours  with  an  iron  ?  "  she 
went  on,  swiftly. 

"  I  've  given  it  up  entirely,"  said  Miss 
Everard,  laughing.  Then,  meeting  a  look 
of  scepticism  from  Elvira,  she  added,  "  Oh, 
you  mean  in  the  back  of  my  neck  —  yes, 
with  an  iron." 

"  I  mean  in  the  back  of  your  neck," 
said  Elvira. 

During  the  conversation  the  Reverend 
Alfred  Neal  grew  warmer  and  warmer. 
It  seemed  to  him  to  more  than  verge  on 
indelicacy.  It  was  not  the  sort  of  thing 
that  men  of  his  cloth  should  listen  to. 
And  yet,  when  Mrs.  Thrum  finished  her 
last  sentence,  to  save  his  life  he  could  not 
prevent  his  eyes  from  a  hasty  glance  at  the 
back  of  Miss  Everard's  head,  where  a 
117 


Decline  and  Fall 

small  blond,  fluffy  curl  made  itself  seen 
below  the  rim  of  her  hat.  Unfortunately 
he  also  met  her  eyes,  and  there  was  that  in 
their  malicious  depths  that  worsted  him  yet 
further.  Then  their  expression  changed 
utterly.  She  stepped  down,  and  held  out 
her  letter. 

"  Will  you  mail  it  for  me  ? "  she  said, 
gravely.  "  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged." 
And  lifting  her  delicate  skirt  with  one  hand 
and  with  a  nod  of  farewell,  she  passed 
down  from  the  piazza  to  the  gate,  so  near 
that  her  dress  touched  him,  and,  crossing 
the  road,  turned  into  the  cool  pine  woods 
just  below. 

Alfred  Neal  went  on  his  way  to  the 
village  in  a  state  of  mind  not  altogether 
well  regulated.  He  was  a  little  vexed, 
a  trifle  shocked,  and  a  good  deal  em 
barrassed.  A  course  of  reflection,  how 
ever,  upon  his  own  position  and  the 
transitory  influence  of  a  girl  like  Miss 
Everard  restored  his  ordinary  confident 
composure  before  he  entered  the  main 
118 


Decline  and  Fall 

street  of  the  Centre,  where  domestic  com 
merce  was  represented  by  two  stores,  on 
the  front  piazza  of  each  of  which  sat  the 
proprietor  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  with  his  chair 
tipped  back  against  the  white-painted  wall. 

Betty  made  her  way  over  the  slippery 
pine-needles,  until,  with  a  steadiness  of 
purpose  denoting  a  specific  goal,  she  reached 
a  tall  pine-tree  whose  shaft  went  straight 
up,  not  bothering  itself  with  branches,  for 
thirty  feet.  Here  she  threw  herself  down 
and,  removing  her  hat,  leaned  back  in  the 
embracing  roots.  The  resinous  bark  gave 
forth  its  spicy  smell.  Hot  as  it  was,  there 
was  a  faint  breeze  which  just  kept  up  con 
versation  in  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees. 
Small  and  active  insects  went  pottering 
about  the  moss  and  needles  and  soft  earth. 
It  was  delicious.  Betty  drew  a  sigh  of 
satisfaction,  and  pitied  the  people  in  towns. 
A  faint  smile  touched  her  lips  as  she  re 
called  Neal's  expression  in  his  first  flush  of 
annoyance  at  her  impertinence. 

"  It  did  curl  prettily,"  she  said  to  her- 
119 


Decline  and  Fall 

self,  lazily  stretching  her  arm  over  her  head. 
"  It  made  him  almost  debonair.  Fancy 
the  Reverend  Alfred  Neal  debonair !  He 
does  n't  know  what  it  means.  Ho  !  hum  !  " 
she  yawned.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  life  is  real, 
life  is  earnest.  But  I  have  to  convince 
myself  of  it ;  some  people  are  born  believ 
ing  it.  They  're  just  like  that  ant.  They 
take  life  seriously  and  hurl  themselves 
against  obstacles  without  in  the  least  know 
ing  why,"  and  Neal  passed  entirely  out  of 
Miss  Everard's  consciousness  in  a  mist 
of  philosophic  speculation  which  was  one 
of  the  privileges  of  Kenyon's.  She  never 
had  time  for  it  at  home. 

It  was  high  noon  when  Neal  came  back 
along  the  dusty  highroad.  As  he  drew 
near  the  two-house  hamlet  known  as  Ken 
yon's,  he  tore  open  a  letter  and  began  to 
read  it.  It  was  from  a  theological  class 
mate  who  was  settled  in  the  small  town 
where  they  had  both  been  at  college.  He 
wrote  with  the  freedom  of  a  man  sure  of 
his  audience,  and  among  other  things  re- 


Decline  and  Fall 

ferred  to  a  certain  laxity  of  doctrine  per 
ceptible  even  in  his  own  congregation  as  a 
part  of  the  undoubted  laxity  of  the  age. 
"  We  have  had  enough  of  the  doctrine  of 
brotherly  love,"  wrote  this  confident  young 
preacher.  "  It  is  time  to  dwell  on  the 
other  side.  Brotherly  love  in  these  times 
of  breadth  and  toleration  will  take  care  of 
itself.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  un 
derrate  its  importance,  but  let  you  and 
me,  Brother  Neal,  see  to  it  that  brotherly 
warning  and  argument  also  continue." 

Neal  nodded  his  head  as  he  read  in 
warm  acquiescence.  It  was  a  pity  that  so 
many  preachers  gifted  of  God  were  so 
prone  to  be  over-lenient  toward  the  prompt 
ings  of  a  personal  devil.  And  he  breathed 
a  sigh,  genuine  and  devoted,  over  the  evils 
which  it  might  lead  to.  There  was  not 
the  slightest  taint  of  hypocrisy  in  the  soul 
of  Alfred  Neal ;  he  was  single-minded  and 
earnest.  At  the  close  of  the  letter  his 
friend  gave  him  an  item  or  two  of  news. 
"  Emily  Grant  asked  about  you  the  other 

121 


Decline  and  Fall 

day,  and  was  interested  to  hear  of  your, 
summer's  work.  She  spends  part  of  the 
summer  in  New  Hampshire,  whither  she 
goes  to-morrow." 

Alfred  Neal  folded  the  letter,  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  and,  crossing  the  road  that  he 
might  be  more  in  the  shade  of  the  over 
reaching  branches,  betook  himself  again  to 
meditation.  Emily  Grant !  She  had  been 
his  companion  in  many  of  the  harmless 
gayeties  of  the  little  town.  On  picnics  he 
had  often  found  himself  at  her  side,  and 
after  the  weekly  sociable  his  forethought 
had  usually  provided  her  with  an  escort 
home.  She  was  a  pretty  girl,  with  a  sweet, 
yielding  expression,  and  an  inflexibility  of 
opinion  that  would  have  done  credit  to  an 
inquisitor.  More  than  one  whisper  had 
reached  young  Neal's  not  ungratified  ears 
regarding  her  innate  suitability  for  the  part 
of  clergyman's  wife.  It  is  to  be  supposed 
that  Emily's  own  ears  had  not  been  entirely 
unassailed  by  such  suggestions,  but  she  had 
never  shown  them  anything  but  the  most 
122 


Decline  and  Fall 

becoming  indifference.  When  Neal  left 
for  this  his  first  parochial  experience  in  the 
wilds  of  Maine,  they  had  parted  with  un 
emotional  propriety  and  an  unexpressed 
expectation  of  meeting  again,  which,  possi 
bly,  upon  the  part  of  one  or  the  other,  might 
be  said  to  approximate  to  a  determination. 
To-day,  as  he  walked  quickly  along,  his 
hat  in  his  hand  and  the  breeze  ruffling 
still  further  those  unclerical  rings  of  hair, 
the  image  of  Emily  Grant,  though  unex 
ceptionable  in  detail,  had  a  certain  color- 
lessness.  An  annoyed  squirrel  rustled 
suddenly  at  his  right.  He  turned  to  watch, 
if  might  be,  its  rapid  course  along  the 
picturesque  pathway  of  a  broken,  moss- 
grown,  insufficient  rail  fence.  Caught  by 
a  glint  of  color,  his  eye  wandered  farther 
into  the  woods.  At  the  base  of  the  pine- 
tree,  just  visible  from  the  lonely  road,  sat 
Miss  Everard.  The  pale  yellow  of  her 
dress  blended  with  the  wood  browns  and 
dusky  greens  about  her,  while  the  hot  sun 
light  penetrating  here  and  there  made  flecks 
123 


Decline  and  Fall 

of  a  still  paler  gold.  She  suggested  a  true 
butterfly  of  fashion,  alighted  for  a  moment 
in  the  flowerless  recesses  of  the  forest. 
She  -was  reading,  and  his  step  did  not 
startle  her  into  lifting  her  head.  Alfred 
paused  a  moment.  The  insufficient  fence 
had  come  to  a  sudden  pause  here,  forcing 
the  squirrel  into  a  precipitate  leap  and 
leaving  the  way  invitingly  open  into  the 
solitude  peopled  by  this  harmonious  young 
person.  The  road  was  hot  and  dusty,  the 
wood  cool  and  fragrant,  and  Kenyon's  din 
ner-hour  was  fifteen  minutes  off.  Miss  Ev- 
erard  seemed  rendered  peculiarly  accessible 
by  the  surrender  of  the  fence,  and  Neal 
turned  and  made  his  way  up  the  slippery 
brown  pathway.  She  raised  her  eyes  and 
smiled  in  recognition.  Now  that  he  had 
come,  he  realized  that  he  had  no  statement 
to  make,  and  his  conscientiousness  led  him 
to  feel  that  the  occasion  demanded  one. 
Evidently  she  was  deficient  in  conscien 
tiousness,  for  she  did  not  share  his  un 
easiness. 

124 


Decline  and  Fall 

"That  is  a  nice  root,"  she  observed, 
pointing  it  out  in  a  friendly  way.  "  If  you 
sit  down  a  little  lower  you  will  find  it 
makes  a  back,  and  there  is  a  place  for  your 
arm  too." 

Neal  had  not  expected  to  sit  down  by  her 
side.  He  had  had  a  vague  idea  of  standing 
and  saying  a  few  words  to  her.  It  seemed 
almost  too  sylvan  to  sit  on  the  ground,  in 
the  lazy  attitude  her  suggestion  indicated, 
and  take  part  in  a  tete-a-tete.  But  his 
six-mile  walk  made  the  resting-place  not 
uninviting,  and  he  remembered  that  he  had 
done  the  same  thing  at  picnics  without  in 
curring  serious  liabilities.  Moreover,  her 
manner  and  words  were  of  a  disarming 
simplicity. 

"  Did  you  bring  me  a  letter  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  No,  there  were  none  for  you." 

"  Such   is  the  faithlessness  of  friends." 

"  Do  you  not  expect  too  much  from 
your  friends  ?  "  he  ventured. 

"  Undoubtedly  I  do.  Everybody  does. 
125 


Decline  and  Fall 

And  then  we  all  get  disappointed,  and 
begin  over  again." 

"  Perhaps  you  should  have  said  your 
nominal  friends,"  he  suggested,  with  good- 
humored  tolerance. 

Miss  Everard  was  unaccustomed  to  be 
told  what  she  should  have  said. 

"  Well,  yes.  What  other  kind  are 
worth  having  ?  I  don't  care  a  pin  for  peo 
ple  who  are  your  friends  and  are  ashamed 
to  be  called  so,"  she  said,  wilfully. 

"  That  is  not  quite  what  I  meant,"  he 
began,  carefully. 

"  Oh,  meant !  "  exclaimed  Betty,  throw 
ing  her  head  back  against  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  and  looking  at  him  under  her  eye 
lashes.  "  What  difference  does  it  make 
what  any  of  us  mean  ?  " 

Such  utter  irrelevance  was  a  novelty 
to  Neal.  His  perplexity  with  the  manner 
gave  him  no  time  to  ponder  the  audacity 
of  the  matter.  He  experienced  a  shade 
of  satisfaction  that  he  had  not  stood  up, 
after  all ;  he  recognized  dimly  that  the 
126 


Decline  and  Fall 

pulpit  attitude  would  have  put  him  still 
more  at  a  disadvantage. 

"I  —  I  —  "  he  began. 

"  Now,  don't  say,"  she  interrupted, 
"  that  though  it  may  not  make  any  differ 
ence  what  7  mean,  you  are  glad  to  say  it 
makes  a  great  deal  of  difference  what 
you  mean  ! " 

The  very  fact  that  any  expression  of 
this  kind  had  been  so  far  from  his  lips  per 
plexed  him  the  more.  He  envied  the  man 
who  might  have  the  presence  of  mind  to 
answer  her  so. 

"  Because  it  won't  do  any  good.  I 
suppose,"  she  went  on,  curiously,  "that  is 
what  you  are  always  thinking  of —  doing 
people  good." 

"  I  wish  I  was,"  he  replied,  honestly. 

"  Now  I  like  that  in  you,"  said  Betty, 
her  eyes  softening,  as  she  leaned  forward 
again,  her  hands  lying  clasped  around  her 
knee.  "  It  is  very  interesting." 

"  It  ought  to  be,"  he  answered,  "  but  it 
is  n't  always."  He  paused,  frightened, 
127 


Decline  and  Fall 

feeling  that  he  had  made  a  dangerous  be 
trayal.      She  did  not  seem  at  all  shocked. 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  she  answered. 
"  But  then,  you  know,  nothing  is  — 
always." 

This  was  not  the  form  of  consolation 
that  he  felt  the  occasion  demanded,  but 
whether  it  was  the  rest  and  the  coolness, 
or  her  words  or  her  presence  itself,  his 
aroused  conscientiousness  allowed  itself  to 
be  soothed,  and  he  let  his  statement  go 
undefended. 

"  I  had  a  letter  this  morning,"  he  said, 
still  under  the  influence  of  this  sudden  ex- 
pansiveness,  "  from  a  friend  who  is  more 
than  a  nominal  one,  —  one  whose  friend 
ship  is  a  privilege  indeed." 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Miss  Everard.  But  be 
fore  he  had  time  to  think  this  exclamation 
irrelevant  too,  "  And  was  it  a  nice  letter  ? " 
she  questioned,  with  a  smile. 

"Yes,"   he  assented,   with    momentary 
hesitation   at   the  insufficiency   of  the  ad 
jective,  "  really,  a  precious  letter." 
128 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  Do  you  get  one  every  day  ?  "  inquired 
Betty,  with  friendly  impertinence. 

"  Every  day  ?  Oh,  no.  He  has  a 
large  parish  and  — " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Betty  again.  "  He  's  a 
man.  Yes,  go  on."  But  her  rapidly 
drawn  conclusions  and  their  modifications 
made  it  impossible  for  him  for  the  moment 
to  go  on.  It  flashed  across  him  what  she 
had  thought,  and  he  paused  and  laughed 
in  some  embarrassment.  He  thought  of 
Emily  Grant,  and  he  was  alarmed  to  see 
how  near  he  had  unwittingly  drawn  to  the 
reefs  of  sentiment. 

"  That 's  all  right,"  said  Betty,  com 
posedly,  "  he  has  a  large  parish  and — " 

"  And  he  finds  his  time  fully  occupied," 
concluded  Neal,  somewhat  ineffectively. 
Now  that  she  had  steered  him  safely  off 
again  he  almost  regretted  that  he  had 
not  dallied  with  the  danger  a  little.  He 
wished  he  might  have  answered  her  that  he 
was  heart-whole  —  Emily  Grant  being  for 
the  moment  in  abeyance  —  and  possibly 
9  129 


Decline  and  Fall 

have  received  some  like  acknowledgment 
from  her. 

"  You  must  have  a  great  deal  in  com 
mon,"  she  said.  "  That  makes  it  so  easy 
to  write." 

"  Yes,"  he  answered.  He  saw  her  in 
tention  to  be  sympathetic  and  interested, 
but  did  not  find  it  so  easy  to  take  advan 
tage  of  as  at  first.  Emily  Grant  seemed 
to  be  in  some  inexplicable  fashion  an  in 
trusive  influence.  She  waited  a  moment, 
and  then  she  looked  up  into  the  tall  tree- 
tops. 

"  Is  n't  it  nice,"  she  said,  "  the  trees 
and  the  dry  ground  and  the  warm  sun  ? 
Are  n't  you  glad  you  are  not  a  trilobite  or 
a  —  a  —  some  kind  of  a  pod,  you  know, 
that  lived  before  the  earth  was  done  ?  " 
and  she  brought  her  lazy  glance  down  to 
rest  upon  his. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  smiling, "  I  think  I  am." 

"  They  must  have  had  such  a  stupid 
time,"  she  commented,  "  poking  round." 

He  felt  that  her  geological  knowledge 
130 


Decline  and  Fall 

might  be  doubtful,  but  her  imagination 
found  a  response  in  his  own  perceptions. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a  distinct  pleas 
ure  to  live  to-day,"  and  he,  too,  looked 
about  him  appreciatively. 

"  And  to  live  one  must  eat,"  said  Betty, 
gayly,  looking  at  a  toy  watch.  "  The 
dinner-hour  of  Kenyon's  will  be  past 
when  you  swing  that  atrociously  rusty 
gate.  As  for  me,  I  shall  be  just  in  time. 
And  we  have  such  beautiful  things  to  eat 
at  our  house,  I  would  n't  miss  one  of 
them  !  "  she  asserted,  greedily.  He  fol 
lowed  her  down  the  rough  path  and  crossed 
with  her  the  dusty  road.  When  he  left 
her  at  the  gate  he  looked  back  at  the 
morning  interview  as  a  time  when  he  had 
not  known  her  very  well.  As  he  entered 
Deacon  Evans's,  and  knew  from  the  clat 
ter  of  knives  and  forks  that  they  were  at 
dinner,  he  wondered  if  his  detention  had 
been  altogether  a  profitable  one.  She  was 
an  attractive  woman,  to  be  sure,  but  Emily 
Grant  would  never  have  thought  of  bring- 


Decline  and  Fall 

ing  a  member  of  the  Christian  ministry 
into  even  momentary  comparison  with 
u  some  kind  of  a  pod." 

On  a  day  of  the  next  week  Miss 
Everard  came  into  the  sitting-room  and 
found  both  rocking-chairs  empty.  It  was 
a  disappointment.  It  rained  hard,  and  she 
had  come  down  from  her  room  after  what 
was  to  her  sedulous  application  to  the 
"  Decline  and  Fall,"  —  though  possibly  to 
a  student  somewhat  desultory,  —  and  she 
felt  the  need  of  relaxation.  She  wandered 
to  the  window  and  watched  the  chattering 
little  puddles  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
and  the  tops  of  the  trees  waving  irreso 
lutely  against  the  sky.  She  bethought 
herself  that  rainy  afternoons  were  not  alto 
gether  dreary  in  the  city.  One  could  stay 
at  home  now  and  then,  and  someone 
might  happen  in  for  a  cup  of  tea.  The 
kitchen  door  opened  and  Camilla  came  in, 
and  took  her  rocking-chair. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Mint,"  said  Betty,  "  I  want 
to  be  entertained." 

132 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  When  I  lived  in  Whitney,"  Camilla 
began, — Betty  leaned  her  head  against 
the  wall,  swinging  one  slippered  foot,  the 
other  lying  out  of  sight,  —  "I  used  to  en 
tertain  a  good  deal.  I  remember  once 
they  were  coming  to  our  house  to  the 
sewing  society.  It  was  n't  the  church 
society.  I  '11  tell  you  just  how  it  was. 
They  used  to  do  more  talking  than  sew 
ing  at  the  church  society.  My  husband 
used  to  say  to  me  —  it  was  when  he  was 
alive,  that  we  lived  in  Whitney,  and  he 
used  to  go  in  the  evening,  along  with  the 
other  gentlemen  ;  they  always  liked  to  have 
him  come  too  —  I  remember  Mrs.  Burns 
saying  to  me  once  that  it  was  always  a 
different  sort  of  sewing  society  when  Anise 
Mint  came.  My  husband's  name  was 
Anise,  and  he  had  a  brother  Cummin. 
Old  Father  and  Mother  Mint  both  of 
them  had  a  liking  for  Bible  names,  and 
they  said  it  always  seemed  providential 
their  names  being  Mint  and  having  just 
those  two  sons.  They  always  spoke  of 
133 


Decline  and  Fall 

them  as  c  my  two  sons  Anise  Mint  and 
Cummin '  —  the  sound  of  it  sort  of  pleased 
them.  My  husband  was  a  very  lively 
man." 

The  poignancy  of  Mrs.  Mint's  grief  at 
the  loss  of  this  attractive  consort  had  suffi- 
ciently.  passed  away  for  her  to  dwell  upon 
his  qualities  with  calm  appreciation.  Her 
rocking-chair  was  moving  back  and  forth 
in  its  usual  contemplative  manner,  with 
her  two  little  hands  resting  on  its  arms. 
Betty  nodded  from  time  to  time,  and  said, 
"Oh,"  "Yes,"  and  "Indeed,"  when 
occasion  demanded  it,  which  was  not  often. 

"  He  used  to  say  about  the  church  sew 
ing  society  that  he  made  excuses  to  come 
at  all  sorts  of  times,  but  he  had  never 
struck  it  when  they  were  n't  just  putting 
away  the  sewing.  So  there  were  some  of 
us  used  to  meet  between  times,  those  of 
us  that  were  interested,  and  that  was  the 
one  that  was  meeting  at  our  house  at 
the  time  I  speak  of.  Mrs.  Burns  was 
the  first  to  come  —  " 
134 


Decline  and  Fall 

Just  here  Elvira  came  into  the  room, 
and,  taking  possession  of  her  own  rocking- 
chair,  observed :  "  Those  hollyhock  seeds 
are  n't  no  manner  of  use." 

"  And  she  said  when  she  came  that  she 
did  n't  see  why  she  had  n't  run  across 
young  Mrs.  Babbitt  on  her  way  over. 
She  lived  near  her  in  the  house  that  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  green,  and  it  was  burned 
afterward,  and  they  could  n't  get  the  insur 
ance.  It  had  run  out  just  the  week  before." 

"  I  got  'em  of  Amelia  Thomas,"  said 
Mrs.  Thrum.  "  She  told  me  they  blos 
somed  most  any  time.  I  planted  them 
along  in  the  spring,  and  they  have  n't  blos 
somed  yet,  and  I  guess  they  don't  mean 
to.  Is  that  a  photograph  of  your  sister 
that  stands  alongside  of  your  mirror?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  Betty,  "  my  older 
sister." 

"  Married  ? " 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  lives  in  —  " 

"  I  was  trying  to  tell  her  about  the  time 
that  —  "  began  Mrs.  Mint. 
135 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  Where  did  you  say  she  lived  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Thrum. 

"  In  Cleveland." 

"  Does  ?  " 

"  That  Mrs.  Babbitt  committed  suicide," 
concluded  Mrs.  Mint. 

"  Suicide  !  "  exclaimed  Betty. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Mint,  placidly, 
u  that  was  the  reason  she  did  n't  come. 
She  'd  taken  laudanum.  They  had  two 
doctors ;  old  Dr.  Norton,  that  lived  in 
the  next  town,  he  happened  to  be  driving 
through,  and  Dr.  Bent  called  him  in  —  he 
was  a  young  man  and  inexperienced.  My 
husband  said  —  " 

"  There  is  Mr.  Neal,"  said  Mrs. 
Thrum ;  "  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  was 
coming  over  here.  Land  !  he  has  n't  any 
umbrella.  I  guess  something  's  happened. 
He  looks  sort  of  hurried." 

Betty  leaned  forward  and  looked  out  of 

the  window.      Mr.  Neal  did  seem  hurried. 

He  was  running  as  fast  as  he  could  through 

the  driving  rain,  and  along  the  muddy  road. 

136 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  You  don't  suppose  anybody  's  com 
mitted  suicide,  do  you  ?  "  asked  Betty,  with 
some  apprehension. 

"  I  guess  anybody  over  there  has  n't," 
said  Mrs.  Thrum,  decidedly.  "  Caleb  Evans 
feels  about  dying  as  the  wicked  man  did 
about  the  resurrection  —  it  '11  come  soon 
enough,  anyhow." 

She  stepped  to  the  door,  leaving  her 
rocking-chair  to  fly  back  and  forth  wildly, 
while  Mrs.  Mint  tipped  hers  a  little  for 
ward  and  waited.  Betty  rose  too,  and 
went  to  the  door,  looking  over  Mrs. 
Thrum's  shoulder.  It  really  seemed  as 
if  there  was  to  be  an  event. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Thrum,"  panted  Neal,  as  he 
sprang  up  the  low  steps,  "  there  has  been 
an  accident.  Nat  has  had  his  arm  badly 
cut  in  the  cutting-machine.  His  father  is 
away  and  there  is  n't  anybody  good  for 
anything  over  there.  Can  one  of  you 
come  over  while  I  run  for  the  doctor  ?  " 

"Cut?  "said  Elvira.  "Nat?  Why,  I'll 
come  right  over." 

137 


Decline  and  Fall 

11  You  don't  go  a  step  to-day,  Elvira  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Mint  from  the  balanced  rocking- 
chair.  "  I  don't  propose  to  nurse  you 
through  rheumatic  fever.  I  '11  go  myself," 
and  she  rose  and  came  forward. 

"  Well,  I  guess  you  '11  take  some  time 
to  get  ready,"  retorted  Elvira,  "  so  as  you 
won't  come  down  with  pneumonia." 

"  I  ought  to  have  thought  of  that,"  said 
Neal,  and  paused,  dismayed,  as  he  looked 
out  at  the  driving  storm.  He  knew  per 
fectly  well  that  both  these  old  ladies  were 
really  invalids.  But  the  case  was  so  urgent 
—  even  now  it  seemed  to  him  the  delay 
had  been  tremendous.  As  Mrs.  Thrum 
spoke,  Betty,  with  swift  movement,  had 
slipped  by  her,  snatched  a  heavy  shawl 
from  the  chair  in  the  little  entry  and  now 
stood  by  his  side. 

"  I  '11  go,"  she  said,  impatiently. 
"Come." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her,  the  shawl 
drawn  over  her  dainty  head,  her  face  pale 
with  fright. 

138 


Decline  and  Fall 

"  You  ?  "  he  said,  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Come,  I  say  !  " 
and  darted  down  from  the  sheltering  porch 
into  the  heavy  rain. 

"  But  —  "  he  began,  as  he  followed  her. 

"  Land  !  "  observed  Elvira,  "  that  '11  be 
the  end  of  that  dress.  Slippers,  too.  I 
wonder  which  arm  it  is  he 's  cut." 

Camilla  had  already  gone  to  her  room 
to  prepare  to  face  the  storm. 

"  Get  some  bandages  ready,  quick, 
Elvira,"  she  called  out. 

"  I  'm  getting  them,"  replied  Elvira. 
"  Did  you  think  I  thought  it  would  do 
just  as  well  to  get  them  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  to  do,"  Betty  said.  He 
did  so  in  a  few  words.  He  had  improvised 
a  tourniquet  and  had  stanched  the  bleeding 
for  the  present,  but  feared  that  it  might 
break  out  afresh,  and  then  it  would  be  all 
to  do  over  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  understand,"  and 
they  entered  the  Evans's  house.  The  boy's 
mother  was  in  a  state  of  partial  collapse 


Decline  and  Fall 

from  fright,  but  still  held  the  arm  as  Mr. 
Neal  had  bidden  her,  looking  alarmingly 
white.  The  younger  sister  was  shrieking, 
"  Oh,  Nat  '11  die,  won't  he  ?  "  in  the  stimu 
lating  and  encouraging  manner  peculiar  to 
ungoverned  feminine  anxiety.  The  boy 
himself,  calm  enough,  lay  on  the  floor,  the 
stained  bandages  giving  Betty  one  awful 
moment  of  sickening  nervousness.  But 
Alfred  Neal,  while  he  paused  to  see  if  this 
was  going  to  do,  did  not  perceive  this  ;  he 
only  saw  her  drop  down  on  the  floor,  slip 
her  hands  about  the  wounded  arm,  telling 
the  half-fainting  woman  to  go  away  until 
she  felt  better,  and,  with  a  little  smile  of 
encouragement  to  the  boy  himself,  introduce 
suddenly  elements  of  order  and  relief.  Then 
he  dashed  out  a  second  time  into  the  rain 
after  the  doctor. 

Insensibly,  during  the  last  week,  his 
admiration  for  another  sort  of  Betty  had 
been  growing,  but  now  he  carried  with  him 
a  new  impulse  toward  this  pale,  smiling 
young  woman,  with  firm,  gentle  fingers, 
140 


Decline  and  Fall 

who  had  tossed  back  her  heavy  shawl,  and, 
with  raindrops  still  hanging  on  her  hair 
and  little,  soaked  slippers,  had  calmly  taken 
the  position  of  ministering  angel.  Possibly 
a  ministering  angel  might  have  chosen 
other  language  to  express  Miss  Everard's 
next  idea. 

"You  little  idiot,"  she  observed  to  the 
irresponsible  Eliza.  "  He  won't  die  unless 
he  does  it  to  get  rid  of  hearing  you  make 
that  outrageous  noise."  Eliza  held  her 
tongue,  and  gazed  like  one  distraught  at 
the  young  lady  with  the  beautiful  clothes, 
who  had  a  command  of  ready  invective 
somewhat  at  variance  with  her  appearance. 
Betty  took  immediate  advantage  of  her 
stupefaction. 

"  Now  go  and  get  your  mother  a  glass 
of  water,"  she  said,  "  and  take  her  this," 
and  she  placed  a  toy  vinaigrette  in  the 
hands  of  the  obedient  Eliza.  Then  she 
began  to  talk  to  Nat,  whose  boyish  endur 
ance  found  food  and  comfort  in  her  atten 
tions.  She  had  begun  bravely,  but  it  was 
141 


Decline  and  Fall 

with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  she  heard  Mrs. 
Mint's  voice  in  the  entry. 

"  Don't  take  on,"  she  was  saying.  "  Men 
are  always  doing  things  to  themselves,  even 
in  their  cradles."  The  vision  of  a  large 

O 

man  in  a  small  cradle  inclined  Betty's 
nerves  to  hysterical  laughter,  but  she  did 
not  yield  to  it.  "  It 's  fortunate  the  Lord 
made  'em  tough,"  concluded  Mrs.  Mint. 
With  this  placidity  between  her  and  the 
contingency  of  Neal's  unprofessional  band 
aging  proving  insufficient,  it  did  not  seem 
very  long  to  Betty  before  the  doctor 
entered,  with  Neal,  who  had  met  him  at 
the  end  of  a  mile  covered  at  racing  speed. 
Then  she  was  free  to  go  out  of  the  room 
and  take  her  damp  skirts  and  slippers  home 
again.  Neal  had  an  umbrella  for  her  this 
time,  and  in  that  short,  sloppy  walk  home 
they  were  nearer  in  sympathy  than  they 
had  ever  been  before.  The  half-mocking 
and  critical,  half-indifferent  attitude  which 
Miss  Everard  had  hitherto  maintained  to 
wards  the  young  clergyman  had  given  way 
142 


Decline  and  Fall 

to  a  natural  feminine  confidence  in  this 
man,  who  had  known  what  to  do  in  case 
of  accident  and  had  then  run  a  mile,  in  a 
pouring  rain,  for  a  doctor.  The  old  ine 
radicable  instinct  of  the  weaker  toward  the 
stronger  had  gotten  the  better  of  her  cul 
tured  perceptions.  With  Neal  an  equally 
natural  force  exerted  itself.  She  had  been 
feminine  and  calm  and  apprehensively 
brave,  instead  of  fascinating,  eluding,  and 
dangerously  broad-minded.  In  fact,  she 
had  adopted  a  demeanor  which  would  have 
done  credit  to  Emily  Grant  herself.  He 
did  not  formulate  this  last  idea,  but  it  was 
in  the  background,  casting  its  protecting 
shadow  over  the  attachment  he  felt  for 
Miss  Everard. 

The  next  two  weeks  saw  the  two  often 
together.  Kenyon's  was  too  remote  from 
contemporary  observation  for  gossip. 

As  for  Mrs.  Mint  and  Mrs.  Thrum,  life 
was  to  them  a  spectacle  of  much  interest, 
few  surprises,  and  no  fining  and  refining  of 
motives  or  mental  processes  whatsoever. 


Decline  and  Fall 

It  was  natural  that  the  time  Neal  had  to 
spare  from  pastoral  work  should  be  spent 
with  Miss  Everard.  Notwithstanding  their 
many  differences,  and  the  fact  that  Betty 
was  always  mentally  comparing  him  with 
greater  men  of  his  own  profession,  to  his 
manifest  disadvantage,  they  represented  the 
same  intellectual  plane.  In  a  community 
where  intellectual  interests  were  wide 
spread,  these  differences  would  have  kept 
them  apart ;  in  this  isolated  spot  they  were 
drawn  together. 

One  afternoon  she  again  sat  before  the 
open  window,  writing.  The  deeper,  thicker 
green  outside,  and  the  burning,  impalpable 
haze  that  penetrated  without  obscuring  the 
landscape,  showed  that  it  was  no  longer 
early  summer. 

DEAR  FRANCES  [the  letter  ran] ,  —  It  has  always 
been  my  wish  to  gratify  your  entirely  legitimate 
appetite  for  personal  details,  when  in  my  power. 
I  shall  let  this  occasion  be  no  exception ;  con 
sequently,  when  you  ask — "How  about  the 
clerical  Mr.  Neal  ?  Is  not  the  point  of  view 
144 


Decline  and  Fall 

changing  ?  "  I  hasten  to  reply  with  a  frankness 
which  should  disarm  unworthy  suspicion.  Yes, 
certainly,  the  point  of  view  has  changed. 

Here  Miss  Everard  paused,  and  insen 
sibly  drifted  into  a  purposeless  revery  ;  then, 
biting  her  pen-handle  with  some  determi 
nation,  she  brought  herself  up  sharply  to 
self-analysis. 

Much  more  than  this  I  am  not  prepared  to 
say.  He  has  grown  more  interesting,  certainly 
—  I  am  not  sure  that  he  has  not  grown  indis 
pensable  —  I  know  I  can  trust  you  to  understand 
that  I  refer  only  to  my  existence  here.  He 
annoys  me  frequently.  This  may  be  in  your 
mind  an  important  point  —  he  annoys  me  more 
than  is  altogether  compatible  widi  personal  indif 
ference.  I  like  him  best  when  he  is  serious  and 
earnest.  Unhappily,  he  has  opposite  moods  — 
moods  of  gayety  when  he  seeks  to  make  evident 
that,  while  he  is  a  clergyman,  he  is  not  held  in 
by  iron-bound  tradition,  and  then  he  makes  jokes 
upon  serious  subjects.  These  are  jokes  which  to 
a  polished  unbeliever  would  seem  to  lack  humor, 
and  are  to  me  irreverent.  He  means  to  imply 
that  his  heart  is  so  thoroughly  in  the  right  place 
10  145 


Decline  and  Fall 

that  he  can  afford  to  play  with  the  fringes  upon 
the  robe  of  righteousness.  I  have  always  thought 
that  humor  should  be  the  more  carefully  handled 
rather  than  the  less,  when  applied  to  what  we 
love  and  honor.  After  he  has  said  something 
of  this  kind  he  perceives,  somehow,  that  he  has 
not  struck  quite  the  note  of  worldly  culture  he 
thinks  appropriate  for  my  ears,  and  relapses  into 
a  mood  of  momentary  depression  which  he  shakes 
off  with  another  joke,  possibly  in  still  worse  taste, 
to  prove  to  himself  and  to  me  that  there  was  no 
harm  in  the  first  one.  Yes,  this  more  than 
annoys  —  it  irritates  me.  I  think  that  is  the 
worst  I  can  say  of  him.  As  opposed  to  this,  he 
has  an  earnestness  and  a  sincerity  of  purpose 
which  make  me  like  him.  Now  and  then, 
Frances,  you  know,  one  tires  of  these  broad 
people  to  whom  all  things  are  equally  important. 
I  could  write  a  history  of  Whitney  —  I 
think  I  shall,  sometime.  But  it  must  be  of  its 
historic  period  —  when  Mrs.  Mint  lived  there. 
Such  exciting  things  happened  there  then  —  the 
air  was  thick  with  mystery  and  the  salons  of  the 
women  of  Whitney  "  wielded  far,  peace  and 
war."  Nothing  happens  there  now.  I  went 
there  with  Mrs.  Mint  the  other  day.  I  was 
146 


Decline  and  Fall 

dreadfully  disappointed.  The  streets  are  grassy 
lanes.  To  quote  again  from  the  same  poem : 
"  Such  a  carpet  as  o'erspreads  —  every  vestige  of 
the  city,  guessed  alone  —  where  a  multitude  of 
men  breathed  joy  and  woe,  long  ago."  Perhaps 
the  multitude  of  men  was  a  fiction  of  my  imagi 
nation,  under  the  sway  of  Mrs.  Mint's  reminis 
cences.  But  not  the  "joy  and  woe"  — they 
are  not  prerogatives  of  a  multitude. 

It 's  very  trying,  do  you  know,  Frances, 
every  now  and  then,  when  you  are  really  inter 
ested  in  a  subject,  to  come  up  against  a  bowlder 
of  prepossession.  Do  you  know  what  I  mean  ? 
Suppose  one  is  talking  of  some  point  of  doctrine 
or  criticism,  or  anything  you  like,  and  you  find 
what  you  say  accepted  without  argument  or  pro 
test,  simply  because  your  whole  training  and 
belief  are  so  wrong  that  there  is  no  use  saying 
anything.  And  this  when  you  know  perfectly 
well  that  your  own  standpoint  is  really  that 
learned  from  the  wise  and  broad  minds  of  the 
century.  Do  you  know  what  that  is  ?  It  is 

exasperating.  Always  yours, 

BETTY. 

A  week  later  Betty  sat  on  the  little  porch. 
It  was   moonlight,  and  the  soft  radiance 


Decline  and  Fall 

which  here  betrays  and  here  conceals,  with 
supernatural  perception  of  the  artistic  needs 
of  earth  and  humanity,  had  cast  its  mantle 
over  even  the  rocking-chairs  which  stood 
empty  on  either  side,  so  that  they  might 
have  been  slight,  delicate  frames  waiting 
for  fair  and  unearthly  shapes,  instead  of 
sturdy  and  reliable  supports  for  Mrs. 
Thrum  and  Mrs.  Mint,  just  gone  inside 
out  of  the  damp.  Something  of  this  sort 
came  into  Miss  Everard's  fanciful  head, 
resting  against  the  door-post,  as  she  sat  on 
the  low  step  of  the  threshold  and  watched 
the  dainty  lace-like  pattern  made  upon  the 
wooden  boards,  by  the  moonlight  shining 
through  the  prosaic  cane  seats  of  the 
chairs. 

"  Why  not  a  dryad  ?  "  she  said,  dreamily. 
"  A  nineteenth-century  dryad  of  a  wooden 
rocking-chair  ?  I  am  sure  if  I  were  one 
I  'd  rather  inhabit  a  rocking-chair  than  the 
trunk  of  a  tree."  Neal  looked  up  at  her 
from  the  lower  step.  The  moonlight  fell 
upon  her  hair,  softening  the  curves  of  her 
148 


"  WHY   NOT   A    DRYAD  ?  " 


Decline  and  Fall 

face  and  figure  with  its  own  half-spiritual, 
half-sensuous  suggestiveness.  Her  eyes 
deepened  and  darkened  as  she  looked  from 
the  porch  out  into  the  fragrant,  clinging 
duskiness  of  the  sjummer  night.  It  was 
one  or  two  minutes  before  he  became  con 
scious  that  she  had  spoken,  and  that,  instead 
of  answering,  he  had  been  watching  her 
with  an  intensity  that  partook  a  little  too 
much  of  the  thoughtlessness  of  irresponsible 
manhood.  With  an  effort  he  turned  away 
and  gazed  into  the  shadows  of  the  opposite 
wood,  whence  came  the  low,  persistent 
sounds  of  manifold  insect  vivacity. 

"  Dryads,"  he  repeated,  slowly.  He 
was  not  quite  sure  what  he  was  going  to 
say,  but  the  sudden  recollection  of  Emily 
Grant,  as  she  had  appeared  once  crowned 
with  leaves  at  a  strawberry  festival,  where 
he  had  addressed  her  as  "  Fair  dryad," 
helped  him  to  pull  himself  together. 

"  Those  old  myths,"  he  said,  "  will 
always  bind  the  fancy  more  or  less. 
They  have  a  certain  hold  on  the  truths 
149 


Decline  and  Fall 

of  nature  that  appeals  to  the  universal 
human  heart." 

While  he  could  be  didactic,  he  was  safe 
from  any  misleading  influence  of  the  hour. 

"  Why  myths  ?  "  demanded  Betty,  per 
versely.  "  Why  may  they  not  have  ex 
isted  ?  —  long  ago,  you  know ;  I  don't 
say,"  she  admitted,  with  fine  tolerance, 
"  that  they  exist  now.  But  I  am  quite  as 
likely  to  have  descended  from  a  dryad  as 
from  an  oyster." 

Although  Neal  did  not  look  at  her 
again  he  knew  her  portrait,  and  he  felt 
that  really  she  had  reason  on  her  side. 

11  An  oyster,"  he  repeated,  vaguely. 

"  Yes,  why  not  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  theory 
of  evolution  myself,"  he  asserted,  shifting 
a  little  the  ground  of  argument.  There 
was  a  movement  on  the  wooden  boards  of 
the  small  slippered  foot  at  his  side. 

"  But  that  has  n't  anything  to  do  with 
it,"  said  Miss  Everard. 

"  But  it  has,"  he  responded,  unguard- 
150 


Decline  and   Fall 

edly  allowing  himself  to  be  drawn  into 
opposing  her  absurdity,  and  he  turned  and 
looked  up  into  her  face.  Possibly  Miss 
Everard  had  anticipated  this,  for  she  smiled 
down  at  him,  and,  with  a  sudden  loss  of 
active  interest,  said  :  u  Has  it  ?  "  as  if  she 
had  no  particular  objection.  Again  Neal 
saw  the  fair  outline,  and  the  white  wrists, 
and  the  shadowy  eyes,  and  again  he  betook 
himself  to  the  firm  ground  of  controversy. 

"  How  certain  men  in  the  Church  itself 
can  assume  the  theories  of  evolution  to  be 
facts  is  a  mysterious  thing,"  he  declared. 
"  Its  conclusions  are  adverse  to  all  that 
we  have  of  revelation." 

"  Oh,"  she  demurred,  "  does  n't  that 
depend  on  the  way  of  looking  at  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  that  would  be  the 
end  of  peace  and  safety.  We  can  look  at 
a  thing  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  appear 
its  direct  contrary."  As  he  spoke,  he 
knew  that  it  was  not  as  warmly  as  usual. 
He  believed  what  he  said,  but  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  a  doubt  crept  into  his  heart 


Decline  and  Fall 

concerning  the  absolute  verity  of  all  the 
conclusions  of  his  life.  Was  it  possible 
that  some  of  them  might  be  mistaken 
ones  ?  Even  as  he  pushed  away  the 
doubt,  it  was  almost  with  the  unallowed 
exclamation,  What  matters  ?  He  was 
frightened  at  the  thought.  Was  it  possi 
ble  that  there  was  any  force  in  the  world 
strong  enough  to  make  his  theological 
convictions  a  secondary  matter  ?  Yet 
even  the  fright  did  not  last,  the  apprehen 
sion  that  he  might  be  losing  his  hold  on 
the  very  essence  of  his  life-work  grew 
faint  and  far  away.  Was  everything  slip 
ping  away  into  a  world  of  unrealities  ex 
cept  the  moonlight,  and  the  sweet  July 
air,  and  a  beautiful  woman  on  the  steps 
above  him  —  all  realities,  whose  presence 
he  felt  as  he  had  often  in  moods  of  special 
grace  felt  other  higher  things  ? 

"  But  should  n't  we  admit  all  of  science 
that  we  can  ?  "  said  Betty.  "  Is  not  that 
the  way  not  to  fear  it  ?  " 

"  Ah,  that  is  the  dangerous  doctrine," 
152 


Decline  and  Fall 

he  answered.  "  It  is  this  paltering  with 
science,  this  readiness  to  give  up  the  divi 
nations  of  truth  for  the  mathematics  of 
science  that  is  working  us  loss  and  injury." 

How  well  he  knew  the  words,  though 
he  said  them  perfunctorily  enough.  They 
came  to  his  lips  readily.  They  were  the 
result  of  honest  thought.  How  often  he 
had  said  them  and  heard  them,  together 
with  his  friend  of  seminary  days,  before  he 
had  come  to  the  Centre,  before  he  had 
loved  this  woman,  who  meant  grace  and 
beauty  and  mental  inspiration  and  deli 
cious  companionship  and  life  itself  —  be 
fore  he  had  loved  her !  He  had  not 
known  where  he  was  going ;  the  knowl 
edge  overwhelmed  him  in  a  flood  of  con 
viction.  Before  its  illuminating  power  he 
stood  abashed  but  unregretful.  He  cov 
ered  his  eyes  for  a  moment's  thought.  It 
seemed  to  him  as  if  a  long  time  passed, 
but  it  was  only  a  moment,  and  Betty  was 
saying,  with  a  little  sigh  :  — 

"  Well,  perhaps.  We  don't  any  of  us 
'53 


Decline  and  Fall 

know  too  much.  Let  us  not  lose  the 
divinations  of  truth,  whatever  else  may 
go."  She  thought  him  narrow,  and  the 
hopelessness  of  finding  a  common  ground, 
at  which  she  had  hinted  to  Frances,  op 
pressed  her ;  but  she  had  a  deep  reverence 
for  conviction,  and  as  she  saw  him,  his 
head  bowed  in  serious  thought,  she  with 
held  her  tongue  from  argument  and  as 
sented  to  what  truth  she  accepted.  Neal 
looked  up.  The  shadows  of  the  woods 
were  black  beyond  the  broad  white  path 
way  of  the  road,  edged  by  the  tall,  ragged 
weeds,  fairy-like  under  the  general  en 
chantment.  The  summer  chorus  had 
grown  somewhat  subdued,  the  fragrance 
of  sweet-william  mingled  with  that  of  the 
pines. 

"  Betty,"  he  said.  Miss  Everard's  eyes 
grew  a  little  startled.  She  had  not  thought 
this  was  so  near.  She  lifted  her  hand. 

"  Hush  ! "  she  said,  leaning  forward. 
"  Listen  a  moment."  Involuntarily  Neal 
turned  his  head  and  looked  toward  the 
154 


Decline  and  Fall 

road,  listening  too.  The  sound  of  a 
horse's  hoofs  was  heard. 

It  was  a  most  unusual  thing  at  night. 
Betty  was  vaguely  frightened.  There  is 
always  something  a  trifle  spectral  in  the 
hoof-beats  of  an  unseen  horse.  Neal  was 
interested  and  curious.  It  grew  more 
distinct,  the  horse  and  rider  were  not 
far  off. 

"  Who  can  it  be  ?  "  murmured  Betty. 

"  I  don't  know,  I  'm  sure,"  answered 
Neal,  and  he  rose  and  walked  down  to  the 
little  gate,  between  the  sweet-william  and 
phlox.  Betty  rose  too,  and  as  she  waited 
on  the  step  saw  the  horse  turn  down  to 
ward  Deacon  Evans's. 

"  It  is  someone  for  me,"  said  Neal,  and 
he  half-opened  the  gate  and  paused  again. 
There  were  voices  from  the  house,  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  horseman  had  wheeled 
about,  traversed  the  short  remaining  dis 
tance,  and  stood  before  Neal  at  the  gate. 

"  Old  Missis  Taunton  is  dying,"  said 
a  boyish  voice.  "  She 's  been  took  sud- 
'55 


Decline  and  Fall 

den,  and  she  says  as  how  she  won't  die 
without  the  minister.  So  if  you  '11  ride 
Streak  over,  you  '11  just  about  get  there,  I 
guess." 

The  boy  stood  holding  the  bridle,  and 
Neal  looked  back.  "  You  hear  what  it  is, 
Miss  Everard  ?  "  he  said  ;  "  I  must  go." 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  she  murmured,  "  I 
understand." 

He  sprang  on  the  horse,  lifted  his  hat, 
and  rode  up  the  road  out  of  sight,  and 
the  boy,  declining  her  suggestion  of  rest, 
guessed  he  'd  walk  along. 

Betty  went  in  and  put  out  the  sitting- 
room  lamp,  nowadays  always  confided  to 
her  care,  bolted  the  front  door,  and  groped 
her  way  up  the  dark  stairway.  Instead 
of  lighting  her  bedroom  candle,  she  went 
to  the  window  through  whose  uncurtained 
frame  the  moonlight  poured  in.  This 
window  was  still  upheld  by  Gibbon's 
"  Decline  and  Fall,"  and  she  gazed  at 
the  volume  with  a  transient  revival  of  in 
terest.  The  second  volume  had  given 
156 


Decline  and  Fall 

place  to  the  first,  which  had  been  finished 
with  a  sensation  of  triumph  which  had 
carried  her,  free  from  conscience-pricks, 
over  three  days  of  no  reading  at  all. 
With  this  trifling  exception,  the  window- 
support  sustained  its  original  form. 

"  It  is  curious,"  she  said  to  herself. 
"  I  came  up  here  to  devote  myself  to  the 
past,  and  it  seems  to  me  now  that  all  my 
interests  are  in  the  future." 

She  leaned  her  elbows  on  the  top  of  the 
sash.  When  the  messenger  had  swung 
himself  from  his  horse  below  there  at  the 
gate,  and  she  had  heard  him  deliver  his 
message,  it  had  seemed  a  harsh,  prosaic 
interruption  to  that  scene  of  quiet,  ethe- 
realized  emotion.  Old  Mrs.  Taunton 
was  a  hard-fisted,  rich  old  woman.  Who 
was  she,  that  she  should  have  come  be 
tween  these  two  just  as  he  looked  into 
her  face  and  called  her  by  her  name  ? 
But  that  impression  had  been  replaced  by 
the  realization  that  it  was  no  trivial  thing 
that  had  interrupted  them.  It  was  not 


Decline  and  Fall 

a  whim  of  old  Mrs.  Taunton.  It  was 
nothing  less  solemn  than  Death  itself — 
one  of  the  two  or  three  great  facts  of  life. 
There  were  not  so  many  of  them  that 
were  unalterable,  unevadable  —  yes,  to  be 
sure,  there  was  Love.  And  was  not  Love 
always  confronted  with  the  awful  strength 
of  Death  ?  Oh,  yes,  it  was  appropriate 
enough.  She  smiled  as  she  remembered 
her  irritation  with  his  opinions,  the  nar 
rowness  which  had  seemed  a  hopeless 
stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  their  under 
standing  one  another.  What  were  such 
small  matters,  compared  with  the  power 
to  face  the  realities  of  existence  ?  How 
quickly,  how  naturally,  he  answered  ap 
peals  such  as  this  to-night  —  an  appeal 
men  and  women  of  broader  culture  and 
larger  views  might  have  shrunk  from.  It 
seemed  to  Miss  Everard  as  if,  for  the 
first  time,  she  saw  the  true  proportions  of 
things. 

Meanwhile  Neal  sat  by  the  dying  woman. 
She  had  sunk  into  temporary  unconscious- 
158 


Decline  and  Fall 

ness,  but  the  doctor  prophesied  a  brief  re 
turn  to  reason  and  urged  him  to  remain. 
Of  course  he  did  not  dream  of  refusing, 
and  as  he  sat  there  in  the  darkened  room, 
silent,  save  for  the  heavy,  uneven  breath 
ing  at  his  side,  he,  too,  face  to  face  with 
Death,  began  again  to  see  things  in  what 
he  felt  to  be  their  true  proportions.  He 
was  still  under  the  spell  of  Betty's  beauty 
and  grace,  he  still  felt  the  subtle  influence 
of  the  scene  he  had  just  left,  but  the  cau 
tion  of  his  training  and  customary  line  of 
thought  reasserted  itself.  Was  this  the 
woman  who  would  be  a  helpmeet  in  the 
work  he  had  to  do  ?  Would  not  this  very 
beauty  and  grace  be  almost  a  drawback  in 
an  unappreciative  parish  ?  Less  avowedly, 
but  forcibly,  came  the  reflection,  would 
not  this  very  quickness  of  intellect,  now  a 
refreshment,  be  a  snare  in  the  way  of  a  fit 
ting  reverence  for  his  authority  and  his 
office  ?  To  be  sure,  she  had  other  claims 
on  his  affection.  He  thought  of  her  as 
she  sat  on  the  farmhouse  floor,  holding 
J59 


Decline  and  Fall 

Nat's  wounded  arm,  pale  and  resolute.  A 
rush  of  love  for  her  swept  him  on  for  a 
moment,  but  he  fought  with  it  and  turned 
back.  It  was  a  crisis  in  his  life  —  let  him 
be  wise  !  Half  an  hour  later  old  Mrs. 
Taunton  stirred,  and  called  feebly.  Neal 
knelt  down  at  her  side  to  pray.  When  he 
came  away  in  the  early  morning  after  she 
died,  he  walked  back  to  the  farmhouse 
with  firm  lips  and  determined  stride.  Later 
that  day  he  wrote  a  friendly  letter  to  Emily 
Grant. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  August  that  the 
rocking-chairs  on  the  porch  were  filled  by 
Mrs.  Thrum  and  Mrs.  Mint. 

"  I  'm  sorry  she  's  going,"  said  the  latter. 
"  She  has  n't  been  any  trouble,  and  she  's 
made  it  more  lively  since  she  's  been  here." 
She  continued  :  "  It  has  seemed  more  like 
Whitney  —  more  like  what  it  was  when  I 
lived  there." 

"  I  'm  sorry  too,"  said  Mrs.  Thrum. 
41  She  's  going  to  send  me  her  photograph, 
and  I  think  I  '11  get  a  frame  for  it  —  one 
160 


Decline  and  Fall 

of  those  red-velvet  ones.  They  have  'em 
at  the  Centre.  It  is  n't  very  good  velvet, 
but  I  guess  it  '11  do.  Not  but  what  she  's 
used  to  the  best,"  she  added.  "  Ought  to 
have  it,  too." 

"  Mr.  Neal  '11  miss  her  some,  I  guess," 
added  Camilla,  slowly  rocking  back  and 
forth. 

Elvira's  chair  jerked  back  suddenly. 

"Miss  her!  He'll  miss  her,  fast 
enough,"  and  the  chair  flew  forward  again 
as  Mrs.  Thrum  rose.  "  But  what 's 
missing  ?  "  and  with  what  might  have  been 
a  scornful  toss  she  passed  into  the  house. 
Mrs.  Mint  knit  on  placidly,  steeped  in 
reminiscences  of  a  young  clergyman  who 
made  a  brief  sojourn  in  Wh'tney. 

Miss  Everard  was  writing  to  Frances. 

DEAR  FRANCES  [she  said],  —  I  start  for  home 
to-morrow.  Yes,  I  think,  perhaps,  I  am  a  little 
bored.  But  it  is  time  for  me  to  be  at  home, 
anyway,  if  you  and  I  go  away  for  September. 
As  for  Corydon  —  yes,  again  —  it  may  be  that 
I  long  to  exchange  the  combination  of  crook 
ii  161 


Decline  and  Fall 

and   pastoral    staff  you    refer    to    for  something 
more    polished   and    worldly.      Anyway,    come 
and  see  me  at  the  end  of  the  week. 
Yours, 

BETTY. 

I  've  finished  the  "  Decline  and  Fall." 

It  was  more  than  a  year  later.  The 
sparse  trees  of  the  prosperous  manufactur 
ing  town  whither  Alfred  Neal  had  been 
called  to  take  charge  of  a  parish  were 
already  losing  their  yellow  leaves,  and  the 
pretentious  house  opposite  looked  as  cruelly 
unshaded  and  aggressively  new  as  its 
owner's  social  position.  Neal  looked  older 
and  somewhat  graver  this  afternoon,  as  he 
read  the  New  York  paper  that  had  just 
come  by  mail.  His  air  of  superb  con 
fidence  that  for  a  man  of  good  physique 
and  theological  training  nothing  ever  came 
hard  had  diminished,  but  he  had  not  lost 
by  the  change.  Instead,  his  face  had 
gained  in  thought  and  purpose. 

"  Married,  October  fifteenth,  at  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  Elizabeth, 
162 


Decline  and  Fall 

daughter  of  Franklin  Everard  "  —  the 
paper  fell  with  a  sudden  rustle  to  the 
floor,  and  Neal  strode  to  the  window  and 
leaned  his  forehead  against  the  pane,  star 
ing  across  at  the  rich  manufacturer's  house, 
which  stared  back  with  all  the  strength  of 
its  uncurtained  windows.  In  a  few  mo 
ments  he  came  back,  picked  up  the  paper, 
and  finished  reading  the  notice.  He  knew 
the  man  by  name  and  reputation  well 
enough.  He  reddened  with  shamed  annoy 
ance  when  he  realized  that  he  was  trying 
to  think  if  he  had  ever  heard  anything 
against  him,  and  he  was  sincerely  glad  that 
he  had  not.  He  dropped  the  paper  again 
and  threw  his  head  back  in  his  one  easy- 
chair,  and  in  so  doing  disarranged  a  silk- 
embroidered  scarf  worked  by  a  member  of 
the  choir,  and  knocked  off  a  balsam  pillow 
sent  him  by  one  of  his  Sunday-school 
teachers.  He  recalled  every  incident  of 
his  last  interview  with  Betty.  After  three 
months  of  a  struggle  which  had  taught  him 
much  he  had  not  dreamed  it  necessary  to 
163 


Decline  and  Fall 

learn,  he  had  gone  to  see  her  at  her  own 
home.  She  had  worn  a  pale-blue  gown, 
and  her  head  lay  against  the  back  of  the 
cushioned,  luxurious  chair  just  as  he  had 
seen  it  on  the  rough  pine-tree  and  the  hard 
door-post  at  Kenyon's. 

"No,  Mr.  Neal,"  she  had  said,  kindly, 
so  very  kindly.  "  It  really  is  too  late  for 
this  sort  of  thing,  you  know.  Up  there, 
it  was  different.  I  think,  one  evening  — 
the  night  old  Mrs.  Taunton  died  —  what 
a  superb  summer  night  it  was  !  —  do  you 
remember  ?  "  He  had  raised  his  eyes  and 
looked  at  her  in  silence  when  she  said  that. 

"  Yes,"  she  went  on,  "  I  think  you  do. 
Well,  that  evening  I  think  I  was  in  love 
with  you.  I  thought  you  very  fine  and 
noble,  and  I  thought  you  could  make  me 
happy.  Not  that  I  don't  think  all  those 
things  now,  you  know,"  and  whether  her 
smile  had  a  touch  of  its  old  mockery  or 
not  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  have 
told,  "  but  I  accept  them  as  I  do  other 
facts,  the  personal  appeal  of  them  has 
vanished  "  —  he  had  been  about  to  speak 
164 


Decline  and  Fall 

then,  but  she  went  on,  with  a  slight  ges 
ture  —  "  vanished,  I  am  afraid  I  must  say, 
Mr.  Neal,  forever." 

He  remembered  with  a  tremor,  as  of 
physical  pain,  how  he  had  felt  when  she 
said  those  words.  They  were  both  silent 
for  a  moment.  Miss  Everard's  slipper 
had  slightly  disturbed  the  snatched  slumbers 
of  a  terrier  that  lay  at  her  feet.  Then  she 
had  spoken  again. 

"  But  you  thought  I  would  not  do,  you 
know  —  " 

"  Miss  Everard,"  he  had  broken  in, 
u  j " 

"No,  don't  speak  yet,  please,  Mr.  Neal," 
she  had  said,  smiling  still ;  "  I  can  say  it  a 
great  deal  better  than  you  can.  I  have 
quite  a  gift  for  analyzing  impressions,  and 
I  'm  not  a  bit  vexed.  You  thought  I 
would  n't  do,  and  —  " 

He  was  glad  that  he  had  insisted  on 
speaking  once,  at  least. 

"  I  did  a  foolish  thing,"  he  had  ex 
claimed  ;  "  and  I  have  suffered  for  it.  But 
it  was  because  I  did  not  heed  my  own  con- 


Decline  and  Fall 

victions.  I  admired  you  —  I  loved  you 
then,  as  now,  but  I  did  not  know  until 
afterward  that  it  was  your  character,  your 
very  self,  that  I  loved  as  well  as  your 
beauty  and  your  wit." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Neal,"  she  had  exclaimed, 
softly,  "  you  are  saying  beautiful  things  to 
me,  but  "  —  here  she  had  leaned  over  and 
frankly  held  out  her  hand  —  "  but  you  were 
right,  in  the  first  place ;  there  is  nothing 
to  be  sorry  for  —  I  would  n't  do  at  all.  I 
know  that  now  better  than  you  knew  it 
then.  I  thank  you  for  being  wise  for  us 
both." 

Had  ever  man  had  his  wisdom  held  up 
to  him  wearing  more  completely  the  guise 
of  folly,  he  wondered  to-day,  as  he  absently 
played  with  an  etched  pen-wiper,  the  gift 
of  the  youngest  member  of  his  Bible-class  ? 
Folly,  pitiless,  irrevocable  folly  !  and  how 
sweetly  she  had  shown  it  him,  and  how 
sure  she  had  been  that  she  was  right  ! 
While  he  —  and  he  rose  and  straightened 
himself  as  though  to  throw  off  the  burden 
of  his  fatal  uncertainty  —  was  she  perhaps 
1 66 


Decline  and  Fall 

right,  right  for  him  as  well  as  for  herself? 
Heaven  knows ! 

The  afternoon  was  wearing  on.  Au 
tumn  clouds  were  piling  up  in  the  west. 
He  looked  out  of  the  window  again.  The 
manufacturer's  youngest  son  was  playing 
the  hose  over  the  clothes  hung  out  to  dry 
in  the  side  yard.  He  turned  away,  took 
his  hat,  and  went  out.  Down  the  street 
was  a  small,  pretty,  quiet  house,  and  on  its 
piazza  he  rang  the  bell. 

"  Is  Miss  Emily  Grant  still  here  ?  "  he 
asked  the  maid  who  opened  the  door. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  was  the  answer.  "  She 
does  not  leave  till  to-morrow." 

"  Tell  her,"  he  said,  entering,  "  that 
Mr.  Neal  would  like  to  see  her  for  a  few 
minutes." 


Uneffectual   Fire 


I 


long  sand-beach  stretched  in  one 
-*-  direction  into  the  vagueness  of  an 
irregular  curve  ;  in  the  other,  it  lost  itself 
in  the  unimportance  of  a  fragmentary 
jumble  of  bowlders,  a  small  dwelling,  and 
a  bathing-house  or  two.  The  blue-green 
water  rose  and  fell  under  blue  depths  of 
space  to  the  distant  horizon.  The  break 
ers,  with  ceaseless,  untiring  effort,  lifted 
themselves,  waxed  strong  and  resistless, 
and  sweeping  on  in  bold  confidence, 
dashed  themselves  to  pieces,  and  foamed 
and  gurgled  and  lapped  the  sand  in  ebb 
ing  weakness,  which  yet  was  not  all  weak 
ness,  but  a  return  to  renewed  strength  and 
progress.  It  was  the  reiterated  expression 
168 


Uneffectual   Fire 

of  treacherous  power  and  its  futility.  A 
gaunt,  gray  wreck  lay  three-cornerwise  on 
the  sand,  colorless,  grim,  and  unwillingly 
conspicuous,  as  are  most  skeletons,  that, 
stripped  of  the  bloom  and  glory  that  were 
theirs,  still  raise  themselves  in  the  midst 
of  existence  with  the  unspoken  burden, 
"  Here  once  was  happiness." 

The  thunder  of  the  surf  reverberated, 
a  slight  breeze  blew  from  the  sea,  and 
there  was  no  other  sound  or  motion  from 
the  far-away  curve  to  the  distant  jumble 
of  bowlders.  Suddenly,  from  the  gray 
timbers  of  the  wrecked  vessel's  stern, 
where  they  lay  prone,  half-buried  by  the 
sand,  rose  the  head  of  a  young  girl. 
Kneeling,  she  rested  a  brown  hand  on 
the  jagged  edge  of  a  beam,  and,  leaning 
forward,  looked  up  and  down  the  unpeo 
pled  beach.  Nothing  could  be  seen  of 
her  but  a  charmingly  pretty  face,  a  lot 
of  reddish-brown  hair,  roughened  by  the 
wind,  and  the  supporting  hand  and  wrist. 
It  was  as  if  a  spirit  of  youth  had  suddenly 
169 


Uneffectual  Fire 

risen  within  the  very  barriers  of  desolation 
to  assert  a  resurrection. 

For  a  moment  she  knelt  there,  motion 
less,  facing  the  gleaming  sea.  The  strong 
light  drew  her  eyebrows  together  into  a 
slight  frown  as  she  glanced  up  toward 
the  sun  —  it  was  early  yet  —  they  would 
come  soon.  Out  at  sea  a  schooner  went 
swiftly  across  her  vision.  She  watched  it, 
smiling,  and  with  another  look  north  and 
south,  sank  back  out  of  sight,  and  the 
beach  was  lonely  as  before. 

For  ten  minutes  more  the  sun  whitened 
the  sails  that  flitted  about  the  horizon, 
the  waves  broke  and  retreated  and  ad 
vanced,  and  then  down  one  of  the  little 
paths,  worn  to  the  sand  on  the  short, 
dry  turf  of  the  fields,  and  losing  itself  in 
the  longer  beach-grass,  came  slowly  a 
man  and  woman.  They  were  both  types 
of  a  high  civilization.  She  was  tall,  and 
carried  herself  extremely  well,  but  she  was 
obliged  to  look  up  to  the  man  who  walked 
by  her  side.  Their  costumes  bore  wit- 
170 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

ness  to  the  careful  carelessness  of  summer 
fashion.  She  paused  as  they  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  grass,  and  he  waited,  looking 
at  her.  Her  eyes  swept  the  long  curve 
of  the  beach  with  an  indolent  curiosity 
far  removed  from  that  eager  search  of  a 
few  moments  earlier. 

"  Nobody  here,"  she  said.  "  Do  you 
know,  I  feel  like  the  man  who  discovered 
the  Atlantic  Ocean,  you  know,  in  the 
reading-books  —  "  She  paused  and  looked 
at  her  companion. 

"  Yes  —  well  ?  "  he  answered. 

"  Don't  be  affected  —  tell  me  his  name." 

"  I  suppose  you  mean  Balboa,  2nd  it 
was  the  Pacific,"  he  suggested,  without 
enthusiasm. 

"  Yes  —  no  matter  if  it  was  the  Pacific 
—  I  feel  like  him  whenever  we  come 
here.  Nobody  else  seems  to  know  about 
it." 

She  spoke  with  a  certain  vivacity  which 
seemed  to  contradict  the  theory  of  indif 
ference  which  her  expression  suggested. 
171 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  I  hope  they  won't  find  out,"  he 
remarked. 

"  They  like  the  other  beach  better,  of 
course.  It 's  nearer  home.  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  cribbed  and  confined  till  I  get  out 
of  sight  of  the  hotel.  I  am  afraid  every 
minute  that  Mrs.  Mellin  will  ask  me  what 
the  temperature  is." 

They  walked  on  as  she  spoke,  appar 
ently  to  a  definite  goal. 

"  How  I  hate  the  temperature  !  Good, 
honest  talk  about  the  weather  I  don't 
mind  —  but  I  do  hate  the  temperature. 
Nobody  ever  agrees  about  it,  to  begin 
with,  do  they  ?  " 

"  Never,"  he  answered,  promptly. 
"The  temperature  has  probably  produced 
more  bearing  false  witness  against  thy 
neighbor  than  any  five  other  causes  within 
the  last  year.  The  thermometer  is  the 
curse  of  modern  civilization." 

Though  his  interest  in  the  question  was 
less  burning  than  hers,  the  fact  that  they 
were  together  meant  more  to  him  than  to 
172 


Uneffectual  Fire 

her.  He  watched  her,  answered  her,  list 
ened  to  her  with  intensity,  while  her  face 
and  manner  never  lost  their  indifference 
whatever  changes  her  voice  might  un 
dergo.  They  passed  the  corner  of  the 
wreck  where  the  apparition  had  risen  just 
before,  and  went  down  to  the  other  end, 
where  some  fallen  timbers  made  a  shel 
tered  seat.  They  were  both  looking  away 
from  the  dismantled  stern  of  the  vessel, 
and  through  a  convenient  opening  in  its 
joints,  a  pair  of  eyes  watched  them  eagerly. 
To  be  sure,  their  owner  could  only  see 
the  broad  shoulders  and  close-cut  hair  of 
the  man,  and  now  and  then  his  profile 
as  he  looked  up  at  his  companion ;  while 
of  her  nothing  was  visible  but  her  blue 
serge  skirt,  the  russet  shoes  somewhere 
about  the  border  of  it,  her  small  hands 
with  their  several  rings,  and  when  she 
leaned  forward  to  pick  up  a  pebble,  her 
face  with  its  somewhat  pale  beauty,  for  an 
instant.  The  wind  was  in  the  observer's 
direction,  and  their  voices,  raised  a  little 
173 


Uneffectual  Fire 

on  account  of  the  surf,  came   steadily  to 
her  ears. 

"  How  plainly  we  hear  the  buoy  !  "  she 
said,  idly,  at  last.  Evidently  they  knew 
each  other  too  well  to  plunge  into  con 
versation  under  the  spur  of  an  embarrass 
ing  pause.  The  man  looked  out  to  sea, 
whence  came  the  fitful  tone  at  disconcert 
ing  intervals. 

"The  wind  is  in  our  direction,"  he 
said,  briefly.  Then  he  returned  to  his 
study  of  the  effects  of  her  dark  hair  under 
a  yachting  cap,  and  that  of  the  chastening 
indifference  of  her  eyes. 

"  What  makes  it  so  sad  ?  "  she  specu 
lated.  "  Is  it  the  irregularity  of  the  sound, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Irregularity  is  not  always  sad,"  he 
objected.  "I  think  it's  the  —  well,  the 
aimlessness  —  the  —  the  futility  of  it, 
don't  you  know.  A  bell  ought  to  call 
people  together,  and  there  is  n't  anybody 
to  call." 

"  It  is  neither  aimless  nor  futile." 
174 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

The  man  sat  up  and  clasped  his  hands 
about  his  knee,  apparently  roused  into  a 
defence  of  his  opinions.  The  eyes  behind 
the  wreck  saw  distinctly  his  handsome 
profile.  "  Well,  then,"  he  amended,  "  in 
stead  of  the  ordinary  mission  of  a  bell, 
which  is,  as  I  say,  to  call  people  together, 
it  warns  them  off.  Therefore  it  is  lonely, 
it  must  ever  be  lonely  —  that  is  why  it  is 
unhappy." 

"  That  is  n't  what  you  said  before." 
She  was  evidently  a  logician. 

"  Is  n't  it  ?      No  matter." 

The  bell  swung  at  the  mercy  of  the 
water  and  the  wind ;  its  sound  came  to 
their  ears  in  a  pause  of  the  surf. 

"  Keep  away  !  Keep  away  !  "  chanted 
the  girl,  with  the  same  measured  intervals. 
"  I  don't  know  but  you  are  right.  It  is  a 
rather  melancholy  burden." 

There  was  silence  again.  The  man 
picked  up  a  pebble  and  threw  it  into  the  surf. 

"  I  've  thought  of  something  else,"  she 
said,  slowly. 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  That  must  be  a  relief,"  he  said,  drop 
ping  down  again  into  his  former  position. 
She  glanced  at  him  questioningly.  "  To 
think  of  something  else.  I  am  always 
thinking  the  same  thing — " 

"  How  monotonous  !  "  she  interrupted  ; 
but  he  completed  his  sentence. 

"  That  I  love  you." 

The  unseen  listener  leaned  perilously 
forward  to  see  if  she  could  not  see  the 
response  of  look  as  well  as  voice ;  the 
blood  sprang  to  her  own  cheek.  Just 
then  the  other  woman  bent  forward  also 
and  she  saw  her  face.  It  was  calm  and 
unemotional  as  ever,  though  a  little  smile 
curved  her  small  mouth,  as  she  looked 
down  at  her  companion. 

"  That  is  nice  for  me,"  she  said,  "  but 
perhaps  just  a  little  —  well,  ennuyant  for 
you  !  " 

"Anything  but  that,"  he  said,  with  a 
laugh  like,  yet  unlike,  her  own. 

"  Don't  you  want  to  know  what  it  is 
that  I  have  thought  of?  "  she  asked,  lean- 
176 


Uneffectual   Fire 

ing  back  again  on  the  wreck  and  putting 
her  arm  over  her  head. 

"  By  all  means." 

"  Matthew  Arnold's  merman." 

"  It  is  almost  a  pity,  is  n't  it,  that  you 
did  n't  think  of  him  before  he  did  ?  Sec 
ond  thoughts  may  be  best,  but  they 
have  n't  the  same  commercial  value." 

"  Listen  !  "  she  said.  "  He  is  ringing 
the  bell  for  his  human  wife  to  come  back 
—  she  ran  away  from  him,  you  know,  and 
she  doesn't  hear  —  of  course  it  is  sad." 

"  Now  you  are  purely  fanciful,"  he  pro 
tested.  "  I  was  trying  to  be  analytic.  If 
it  comes  to  mermen  you  can  make  it  any 
thing  you  like." 

"  «  Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down; 

Call  no  more. 

She  will  not  come  though  you  call  all  dayj 
Come  away,  come  away! '  ' 

she  quoted  softly. 

"  That  is  just  like  you,  is  n't  it  ?  "   he 
commented.     "  You   would   be   like   that. 
12  177 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

You  would  never  have  a  regret  for  what 
you  had  left  behind  you.  You  would  be 
saying  your  prayers  in  the  little  gray 
church  —  on  a  'windy  hill,'  wasn't  it?  — 
no  matter  who  was  calling  for  you  out 
side." 

He  spoke  with  a  bitterness  that  seemed 
involuntary.  She  laughed  a  little.  The 
small  hands  that  were  in  sight  of  the  silent 
watcher  were  playing  lazily  with  the  sand, 
through  which  the  diamonds  gleamed  with 
sudden  brightness  as  she  half  buried  her 
fingers  in  its  colorlessness. 

"  Would  you  have  me  always  regret 
the  —  the  bottom  of  the  sea  ?  "  she  asked. 

"I  would  have  you  regret  nothing.  I 
am  too  much  of  a  philosopher,"  he  an 
swered,  with  a  smile  at  his  own  presump 
tion,  "  but  I  wish  —  '  he  caught  one  of 
her  hands  from  the  yielding  sand  and 
kissed  it  twice.  The  figure  behind  the 
wreck  clasped  her  hands  with  a  sudden 
movement;  a  rush  of  noisy  waves  —  one, 
two,  three  —  each  close  behind  the  other  — 
178 


Uneffectual  Fire 

would  have  drowned  a  more  emphatic 
sound.  The  sparkling  hand  was  with 
drawn,  and  the  quiet  voice  was  heard. 

"  For  a  philosopher —  "  she  paused,  and 
then  went  on  —  "  are  n't  you  a  little  — 
tempestuous  ?  " 

ut  Toujottrs  phtlosophe  —  is  a  fool,'"  he 
answered,  quickly.  "  I  Ve  forgotten  who 
said  that,  but  it  was  somebody  a  great  deal 
cleverer  than  I  —  and  it 's  true." 

"  I  don't  think  you  are  in  any  immediate 
danger  of — that  sort  of  foolishness." 

He  laughed. 

"  Think  what  you  've  saved  me  from." 

"Oh,  saved  you!"  she  sighed,  with 
slight  impatience.  "  Why  can't  you  let 
well  enough  alone  ?  " 

"  I  do,  a  great  deal  of  the  time — only 
you  call  it  well  enough  —  I  don't." 

She  tossed  a  handful  of  sand  into  space, 
and  it  was  immediately  blown  hither  and 
yon,  into  strange  places,  as  are  most  things 
that  we  toss  carelessly  into  space.  Some 
of  it  went  into  the  eyes  of  which  she  was 
179 


Uneffectual  Fire 

so  unconscious,  and  made  them  quite  un 
comfortable  for  a  moment.  Apparently 
with  the  gesture  she  dismissed  the  subject. 

The  afternoon  waned,  the  hours  passing 
as  swiftly  as  do  all  unhurried  hours. 

"  I  'd  like  to  walk  up  the  hill,"  she 
suggested,  "  before  sunset.  Will  you 

go?" 

"  If  you  go  with   me,"  he  assented. 

He  offered  her  his  hand  to  help  her  to 
rise.  She  hesitated  a  little,  laughing  still, 
before  she  gave  him  hers  —  the  one  he  had 
kissed.  He  grasped  it  quickly,  laughing  a 
little  too,  and  drew  her  lightly  to  her  feet. 
She  moved  a  few  steps  on  while  he  stooped 
to  pick  up  the  shawl  and  parasol.  So 
standing,  she  was  in  full  sight  from  the 
creviced  timbers,  it  seemed  as  if  she  must 
feel  the  magnetism  of  those  eager  eyes ; 
but  she  did  not ;  she  turned  and  went  on 
toward  the  hill,  the  same  idle  smile  on  her 
lips  as  she  looked  up  at  the  man  who 
walked  with  her.  Without  turning  for  a 
last  glance  at  the  lonely  grandeur  of  the 
180 


Uneffectual  Fire 

surf  which  still  rose  and  broke  and  thun 
dered  with  no  diminution  of  the  majesty 
that  had  ceased  to  be  a  spectacle  to  their 
human  eyes,  they  reached  the  foot  of  the 
hill  and  began  to  climb  it.  The  other  girl 
rose  from  her  somewhat  cramped  position, 
and  slowly  shaking  the  sand  from  her  dress 
gazed  after  them.  She  was  perhaps  nine 
teen  years  old,  and  too  nearly  beautiful  to 
escape  comment  wherever  might  be  ob 
servers.  She  stretched  her  arms  lazily, 
relieved  from  the  narrow  limitations  of  her 
hiding-place.  Her  lips  were  smiling  and 
her  cheeks  were  flushed  with  excitement. 
She  climbed  over  the  fallen  timbers  which 
surrounded  her  on  all  sides  save  that  away 
from  the  ocean,  where  the  land  rose  into  a 
little  hillock,  itself  a  shield  in  that  direction. 
Still  smiling,  she  strolled  along  the  sand, 
and  at  last  threw  herself  down  again  upon 
it,  her  half-bare  arms  burying  themselves 
in  its  warmth,  her  chin  resting  in  her  hands, 
and  her  eyes,  like  ancient  mariners,  "  fol 
lowing  the  sea." 

181 


Uneffectual  Fire 

The  sun  fell  on  the  reddish  masses  of 
her  hair,  and  touched  the  color  on  her 
brown  cheeks  into  deeper  warmth,  and  then 
slipped  away  almost  imperceptibly  behind 
the  hill  j  but  she  did  not  go  away,  though 
she  shifted  her  position  now  and  then. 
She  was  gifted  with  an  extraordinary  fa 
cility  of  repose.  But  she  was  mentally 
active,  reviewing  every  sentence  of  the 
conversation  she  had  just  heard.  Many  of 
its  allusions,  much  of  its  significance,  had 
escaped  her.  In  its  lightest  triviality  there 
was  something  that  she  did  not  lay  hold 
of;  but  the  tone,  the  inflection  of  it  — 
this  she  grasped  notwithstanding.  The 
intensity  that  deepened  it,  the  passion  that 
now  and  then  glanced  through  it,  she 
caught  and  responded  to  with  a  quickness 
and  a  certainty  that  were  remarkable. 
Moreover,  her  ears  were  becoming  accus 
tomed  to  the  language  that  had  been 
strange  at  first ;  it  was  no  longer  the  hope 
less  confusion  of  tongues  that  it  had  been, 
when  it  had  seemed  but  a  saying  of  things 
182 


Uneffectual   Fire 

that  had  no  meaning,  a  slipping  away  from 
a  meaning  before  it  was  half  said,  com 
bined  with  a  deafness  that  came  upon  them 
when  most  tremendous  meanings  chal 
lenged  their  attention.  That  first  time 
had  been  when  she  wakened  from  a  long 
nap  in  her  favorite  corner  of  the  old  ship, 
to  hear  just  outside  the  voice  that  she 
recognized  as  that  of  the  young  lady 
watched  and  idolized  for  three  whole  weeks. 
Since  then  Judith  had  come  with  the  same 
companion  three  or  four  times,  and  she 
had  awaited  them,  eagerly,  silently.  At 
last  she  fancied  she  saw  realized  the  vision 
of  years,  at  last  the  reserve  of  strength  and 
the  sweet  coldness  of  the  princess  who  per 
ceives  the  prince  had  come  into  her  life. 
Trena  Polton  had  imagination  and  keen 
perceptions.  To-day,  with  the  sun  caress 
ing  her  cheeks  and  throat,  with  the  breeze 
roughening  still  further  her  carelessly 
knotted  hair,  with  the  freedom  of  the  sea 
before  her  and  its  voice  in  her  ears,  the 
warm  sand  under  her,  and  the  blue  sky 
183 


Uneffectual  Fire 

bending  down  about  her,  she  felt  the 
subtleties  and  the  possibilities  of  love. 

At  last,  as  the  breeze  struck  more  coldly 
and  the  warmth  departed,  she  picked  her 
self  up,  glanced  over  her  shoulder  to  the 
glorified  west,  and  went  on  up  the  beach 
to  a  path  more  distant  than  that  down  which 
the  others  had  come. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  watch 
ing  the  sunset,  sat  Judith  Van  Wert  and 
Randal  Kane.  In  the  west,  over  the  bay, 
the  sky  was  changing  from  gold  to  rose, 
and  melting  here  and  there  into  green,  and 
deepening  into  faint  warm  tints  of  purple 
and  curious,  dull,  breathing  reds ;  the 
canoes  and  row-boats  floated  softly  in  a 
throbbing,  molten  medium  that  was  not 
sky  and  must  be  water,  and  a  sail-boat 
drifted  silently  across  the  brightness  and 
lost  itself  in  the  shadows  already  beginning 
to  lurk  in  the  near  distance. 

"  There  is  no  use,"  sighed  Judith,  "  we 
can't  live  up  to  our  sunsets  here.  What 
possibility  has  life  to  offer  us  of  which  that 
184 


Uneffectual  Fire 

magnificence  can  be  a  symbol  ?  "  She 
paused  to  gaze  silently  a  moment.  "What 
deed  can  be  done  which  should  not  be  un 
worthy  such  a  background  ?  "  she  went  on 
dreamily.  "  What  emotion  that  could  burn 
itself  into  such  a  flame  of  glory  ?  " 

"  After  all,  there  are  certain  things  on 
earth  that  are  too  great  for  other  expres 
sion,"  he  said.  "  As  for  love  —  " 

"  Don't,"  she  said,  quickly  ;  "  you  will 
introduce  that  4  horrible  sense  of  the  d'eja 
connu  !  '  " 

II 

THE  door  of  the  fisherman's  small  house 
was  open.  Within  was  the  sound  of  dishes 
and  a  slight  hissing,  suggestive  of  the  with 
drawal  of  fish  from  their  native  element, 
and  a  not  far-distant  frying-pan.  As  the 
girl's  shadow  deepened  the  growing  twi 
light  of  the  doorway,  her  mother  looked 
up.  "  There  you  are,  Trena,"  she  said  ; 
"  Ben  's  been  looking  for  you." 
'85 


Uneffectual   Fire 

The  somewhat  statuesque  importance 
of  "  Tryphena "  had  been  shortened  for 
daily  use  into  "  Trena." 

"  He  says  he  '11  meet  you  after  supper 
in  Whaler's  lot." 

The  girl  tossed  her  head  a  little.  The 
interior  of  the  small  kitchen  looked  almost 
dark  after  the  soft  brilliance  of  the  outer 
world.  The  bright  sparkle  of  fire  from 
the  sputtering  stove  was  dim  beside  the 
flame  that  had  devoured  the  heavens. 

"  He  did,  did  he  ?  "  she  responded. 

Her  mother  stood  with  her  elbows  on 
her  hips,  in  one  hand  a  steel  knife,  in  the 
other  an  iron  fork,  asserting  themselves 
at  right  angles  to  her  body,  with  which  im 
plements,  at  discreet  intervals,  she  investi 
gated  the  fish.  She  faced  her  daughter  with 
a  sharpness  that  was  not  condemnatory. 

"  Yes,  he  did,  and  I  guess  you  're  goin' 
to  be  there  too,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  guess  I  '11  be  there,"  Trena 
replied,  negligently.  "  Has  father  come 
in  ?  " 

186 


Uneffectual   Fire 

"  Come  in  ?  Yes,  he  's  come  in. 
Sometimes  't  looks  as  if  that  was  n't  any- 
thin'  but  another  name  for  goin'  out," 
sighed  the  housekeeper,  as  she  turned  a 
crisp  fish  in  the  pan.  "  Lobster-pots  this 
time." 

"  He  's  coming  now,"  said  the  girl,  as 
she  watched  a  small  boat  being  pulled  in 
through  the  tinted  waters  of  the  bay. 
Then  she  sauntered  slowly  down  to  the 
dock  to  meet  him.  Her  mother  stepped 
to  the  door  and  looked  after  her ;  there 
had  been  a  curious,  subdued  excitement 
in  Trena's  manner  that  had  affected  her. 
She  wondered  what  idea  the  child  had 
in  her  head.  She  watched  the  short,  scant 
blue  skirt  as  it  wavered  against  the  gray- 
ness  of  the  dock,  and  noted,  half-uncon- 
sciously,  the  erect,  light  figure,  and  the 
pretty,  well-set  head  that  gave  her  ineffec 
tive  costume  a  certain  picturesqueness. 
She  did  not  perceive  these  details,  which 
would  have  struck  a  more  tutored  eye  with 
their  significance,  but  she  felt  her  daugh- 
187 


Uneffectual  Fire 

ter's  beauty,  and  retained  this  fresh  impres 
sion  of  it,  even  after  she  had  returned  to 
the  unbeautiful  stove  and  the  numerous 
pots  and  kettles  subject  to  its  sturdy 
influence. 

As  Trena  went  toward  Whaler's  lot, 
after  supper,  the  clouds  had  faded  and 
grown  heavier  in  the  west,  and  the  sky 
was  a  curious  blending  of  dark  grays,  with 
here  and  there  a  vivid  red  breaking 
through  and  vivifying  the  oppression  of 
the  low-lying  masses  into  a  sullen  hint  of 
rebellion.  Trena's  spirit  was  filled  with 
inarticulate  discontent.  She  did  not  know 
why  the  romance  of  her  life  had  suddenly 
grown  crude  and  yet  colorless.  She  did 
not  say  to  herself  that  it  had.  She  only 
felt  the  wide  and  immeasurable  distance 
between  the  tryst  of  Whaler's  lot  and  that 
of  the  afternoon  on  a  lonely  beach,  when 
the  murmurs  of  love-making  drifted  in  half- 
meanings  and  delicate  suggestion  through 
the  thunder  of  the  surf.  She  knew  so  well 
what  Ben  would  say,  and  how  he  would 
188 


Uneffectual   Fire 

say  it.  She  was  sure  there  would  be  none 
of  that  withheld  strength,  that  reticence  of 
expression  that  had  lent  the  other  inter 
view  something  elusive,  but  distinct  and 
delicious.  It  would  not  be  like  that  to 
night,  but  perhaps,  in  time,  she  might 
teach  him.  Why  not  ?  The  idea  pleased 
her.  Trena's  temperament  was  one  pecu 
liarly  susceptible  to  shades  of  feeling.  Un 
used  to  self-analysis,  utterly  at  a  loss  as 
she  would  have  been  for  the  terms  to  ex 
press  the  distinctions  that  she  perceived, 
ignorant  of  the  whole  world  of  artificial 
and  conscious  sentiment,  she  nevertheless 
was  keenly  sensitive  to  the  changes,  fluctua 
tions,  and  significances  of  emotional  expe 
rience.  Had  she  been  a  woman  of  the 
world  she  would  have  been  dangerously 
wise  in  the  nuances  of  sentimental  rela 
tions,  and  would,  perhaps,  have  used  her 
wisdom  not  altogether  to  edification.  But 
she  was  not  a  woman  of  the  world,  and 
she  had  no  gauge  to  judge  of  the  com 
parative  value  of  her  impulses.  To  her 
189 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

fascinated  gaze  Judith,  in  her  daintiness, 
her  beauty,  and  her  air  of  experience,  was 
the  incarnation  of  all  wild  dreams  of  what 
she  herself  would  become ;  while  Kane, 
whose  strength,  courtesy,  and  command  of 
every  occasion  seemed  to  her  ignorance 
exclusively  his  own,  was  the  nobleman 
who  made  all  other  men  commoners. 
With  the  frank  curiosity  of  a  child  she  had 
listened  to  their  idle  talk,  with  as  little 
thought  of  any  dishonor  in  the  transaction 
as  if  they  had  been  in  reality  beings  of 
another  world.  She  was  like  a  novice 
who  has  watched  with  rapture  the  graceful 
play  of  the  fencing  foils,  and  in  eager 
emulation  snatches  one  of  them,  too  ig 
norant  to  see  if  the  button  be  in  place. 

She  swung  open  the  big  wooden  gate 
that  barred  the  way  into  Whaler's  lot. 
The  late  twilight  had  fallen,  but  it  was 
long  at  this  season,  and  the  three  or  four 
stunted  apple-trees  that  stood  together  at 
the  further  end  stretched  out  their  arms  in 
rugged  protectiveness,  while  through  their 
190 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

branches  the  evening  star  flickered  with 
an  unsteadiness  that  was  that  of  the  slight 
breeze  that  was  blowing,  and  not  its  own. 
Through  all,  and  under  all,  and  yet  un 
mistakably  over  all  the  sounds,  the  sights, 
and  the  beauties  of  the  summer  evening, 
was  the  long,  slow  roll  of  the  unseen 
surf. 

A  man's  figure  advanced  from  the  other 
side  of  the  field. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  I  was  beginning  to 
cast  about  for  an  excuse  for  being  here  by 
myself,  in  case  anybody  should  happen 
along,  seeing  how  you  did  n't  seem  to  be 
coming."  He  smiled  as  he  spoke,  and 
taking  her  hand  in  his,  swung  it  gently 
back  and  forth  as  they  went  toward  the 
gnarled  apple-trees.  She  did  not  answer 
for  a  moment,  and  let  her  hand  rest  in  his. 
Then,  with  sudden  coquetry,  she  looked 
up  at  him. 

"  Supposing  I  had  n't  come  ?  "  she 
suggested. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  answered,  still  smil- 
191 


Uneffectual  Fire 

ing,  "  I  guess  I  'd  V  had  to  go  up  and 
fetch  you." 

"  Supposing  I  would  n't  have  come 
then,"  she  persisted.  "  Supposing  —  I 
should  n't  ever  have  come  ?  " 

Ben  looked  puzzled  and  then  laughed 
good-humoredly. 

"  Well,  you  're  not  thinking  of  getting 
drowned  or  —  or  going  to  boarding-school, 
are  you  ? "  he  inquired,  briefly  reviewing 
the  two  sorts  of  casualties  which,  within 
his  memory,  had  carried  off  any  of  the 
female  population  of  the  place.  Trena 
pouted  and  tossed  her  head.  His  calm 
serenity  irritated  her. 

"  I  should  n't  think  you  'd  talk  that  way 
about  my  being  drowned,"  she  said.  "  If 
I  should  go  —  go  away  some  day  and 
never  come  back,  perhaps  you  'd  talk 
differently." 

Ben's  face  grew  less  untroubled. 

"  It  depends  on  why  you  went,"  he 
said,  slowly  ;  "  if  't  was  anywhere  you 
did  n't  want  to  go  I  'd  go  after  you ;  but 
192 


Uneffectual   Fire 

if  it  was  because  you  wanted  to  go,  then 
I  guess  I  'd  make  up  my  mind  to  let  you." 

Trena  glanced  at  him,  a  little  startled. 
This  new  tone  did  not  altogether  displease 
her,  though  it  was  unlike  what  she  had 
heard  that  afternoon. 

"  I  might  go,"  she  said,  airily,  "because 
I  liked  somebody  else  better." 

His  momentary  sternness  vanished. 
This  was  nonsense  —  she  liked  nobody 
better. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  will,"  he  answered. 

They  were  standing  now  under  the  first 
apple-tree.  He  put  his  arm  around  her 
and  kissed  her  cheek.  The  suddenness  of 
the  caress  made  her  forget  her  new  as 
sumptions.  Ben  was  not  prodigal  of 
caresses.  She  laughed  and  blushed  a 
little ;  her  eyes  met  his  and  then  glanced 
away  to  the  trees  and  the  evening  sky. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  will,"  she  said. 

Ben  stood  looking  at  her  in  silence ; 
her  red-brown  hair  had  almost  escaped 
from  the  knot  which  a  tawdry,  gilded 
193 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

hairpin,  bought  in  imitation  of  Judith's 
ornaments,  was  supposed  to  hold  in  place. 
In  the  faint  light  it  had  lost  its  tawdriness, 
and  gleamed  bright  gold  in  the  darker 
masses  of  her  hair.  Her  eyes  were  soft 
ened  by  the  half  shyness  that  had  come 
over  her.  A  little  restless  under  his  gaze, 
she  raised  her  hand  to  the  low-bending 
bough  of  the  tree,  and  swung  it  gently 
back  and  forth  over  her  head.  Ben  could 
say  nothing;  he  turned  and  looked  toward 
the  invisible  ocean,  feeling  dimly  that  its 
deep  undertone  was  expression.  Its  salt 
breath  was  in  their  faces  as  the  darkness 
closed  in  more  swiftly  and  the  evening 
star  grew  brighter. 

The  branch  of  the  old  apple-tree  swung 
suddenly  back  into  its  place  with  a  sharp 
swish.  It  seemed  that  it  might  miss  the 
soft,  clinging  grasp  of  her  warm,  brown 
hand  —  they  had  so  little  softness  in  their 
lives,  these  apple-trees  —  they  were  ex 
posed  to  so  many  icy  blasts  and  so  much 
sready,  persistent  wind,  that  much  of  their 
194 


Uneffectual   Fire 

existence  was  a  struggle ;  and  were  it  not 
for  occasional  visions  of  sentiment  like 
the  present,  they  would  have  forgotten 
that  there  was  such  a  thing  as  tenderness 
in  the  world. 

"  Now  I  've  come,  why  don't  you  talk 
to  me,  Ben  ?  "  asked  Trena,  laughing. 

For  a  time  the  spirit  of  discontent  was 
banished,  but  Trena's  impressible  nature 
had  come  too  decidedly  under  the  spell  of 
a  different  civilization  for  her  not  to  return 
to  the  attempt  to  repeat  some  of  its  fea 
tures.  Ben's  talk  about  the  fishing  was 
monotonous,  his  confidence  in  her  interest 
inapposite. 

"  What  makes  you  tell  me  all  that  ? " 
she  asked,  with  a  flash  of  impatience. 

"  Why  do  I  tell  you  ? "  he  repeated, 
and  went  on  somewhat  clumsily,  —  he 
was  utterly  unused  to  analyzing  his  emo 
tions.  "  I  don't  exactly  know.  I  thought 
you  might  —  no,  I  guess  it 's  only  because 
I  love  you." 

Had  she  been  really  the    sophisticated 

'95 


Uneffectual  Fire 

woman  she  was  trying  to  fancy  herself, 
the  simplicity  of  this  statement  would  have 
touched  her,  did  she  but  know  it ;  but  it 
was  simplicity  which  had  palled  upon  her. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  you  do,"  she  an 
swered,  flippantly. 

Then,  with  an  ill-directed  grasp  at  the 
evasive  sentiment  of  the  afternoon,  "  But 
what 's  the  use,  Ben,  anyway  ?  "  she  added. 

Ben  was  wounded.  He  did  not  often 
tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  He  was  one 
of  those  slow,  undemonstrative,  not  alto 
gether  unreasonable  people,  who,  having 
made  such  a  statement,  expect  it  to  remain 
in  force  until  contradicted  or  otherwise 
falsified,  and  it  hurt  him  that  when  he 
tried  to  make  her  understand  she  should 
treat  his  explanation  as  so  trivial. 

"  You  never  asked  me  what  the  use  of 
it  was  before,"  he  said,  "  and  I  'm  sorry 
you  have  to  ask  now." 

They  had  wandered  away  from  the 
apple-tree  and  were  leaning  against  the 
old  rail  fence  that  bordered  Whaler's  lot. 
196 


"THEY    HAD    WANDERED 


Uneffectual  Fire 

A  couple  of  belated,  and  perhaps  dissi 
pated,  swallows,  swooped  down  almost  be 
tween  them,  and,  with  what  seemed  a 
single  flutter  of  swift  wings,  were  gone. 
How  stupid  Ben  was  to  answer  her  in  that 
sort  of  way !  Why  could  n't  he  have 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  quoted  a  line 
of  poetry  ? 

He  drew  nearer  to  her ;  possibly  he 
thought  that  renewed  tenderness  might 
overcome  this  new  wilfulness,  some  indi 
cations  of  which  he  had  seen  of  late.  She 
moved  away  pettishly. 

"  Let 's  go  back,"  she  said  ;  "  it 's  late 
anyhow." 

Ben  felt  strangely  checked  and  thwarted 
by  her  manner.  He  was  not  unprepared 
for  a  lovers'  quarrel  now  and  then,  but 
this  coolness,  this  dissatisfaction  was  not 
of  that  sort.  In  increasing  perplexity 
and  regret  he  let  her  lead  the  way  from 
Whaler's  lot  toward  home.  Trena  herself 
could  have  cried  with  vexation.  She  had 
so  lamentably  failed  in  producing  the 
197 


Uneffectual   Fire 

effects  she  longed  for.  Ben  could  not 
care  for  her  as  that  other  lover  cared  ! 
Why,  if  Ben  must  kiss  her,  could  he  not 
have  kissed  her  hand  ?  That  swift  kiss 
she  had  seen  on  the  beach  seemed  to  her 
awakened  imagination  more  poetic,  more 
intense,  fuller  of  concentrated  feeling  than 
all  Ben's  words  and  demonstrations. 

The  month  went  slowly  by.  With 
grand  unconsciousness  of  the  petty  ebb 
and  flow  of  human  love  and  jealousy  and 
distrust,  the  mighty  tides  swept  themselves 
over  the  unresisting  sand,  or  when  a  storm 
arose,  in  magnificent  contempt  of  bondage, 
dashed  themselves  over  the  rocks  about 
the  lighthouse.  The  days  were  growing 
steadily  shorter,  but  the  afternoons  were 
still  sunny,  and  still  Judith  and  Kane 
made  their  way  through  the  long,  strong, 
but  yet  unsuccessful-looking  beach-grass 
to  the  hard  sand,  and  across  it  to  the  old 
wreck.  Behind  the  old  wreck  often 
crouched  a  picturesque  figure  whose  heart 
198 


Uneffectual  Fire 

was  filled  with  mingled  sensations  of  envy, 
admiration,  dissatisfaction,  and  something 
stronger  yet,  while  she  listened,  half- 
comprehending,  half-bewildered,  to  their 
talk  with  its  occasional  flashes  of  passion. 
Then  followed  other  scenes  in  Whaler's 
lot,  on  the  rocks,  near  the  narrow  door- 
stone  of  the  fisherman's  house,  in  the  one 
street  of  the  straggling  village  —  wherever 
Ben  and  Trena  met,  which  she,  with  the 
ignorance  of  a  child  and  the  persistence  of 
a  woman,  strove  to  infuse  with  the  caustic 
mockery  and  the  sceptical  spirit  of  which 
she  had  half  caught  the  significance,  and 
so  wounded  and  angered  Ben  until  he 
slowly  and  unwillingly  became  bitter,  sus 
picious,  and  resentful. 

But  to  his  moods  Trena  was  strangely 
indifferent ;  it  was  as  if  she  were  under  a 
spell  —  the  spell  of  the  spirit  of  the  time 
—  only  to  her  the  drama  of  the  sands  lacked 
one  thing  —  climax.  Were  they  going 
on  forever  in  this  way  ?  she  wondered. 
Still  Judith  talked  of  the  sea  and  life  and 
199 


Uneffectual  Fire 

people,  and  appealed  to  him  and  interrupted 
him,  and  still  he  listened  and  commented, 
and  now  and  then  said  sharp,  uncompro 
mising  things,  and  lazily  acquiesced  in  her 
interruptions.  Was  this  to  be  all  ?  She 
grew  impatient  for  something  —  she  did 
not  know  for  what.  Her  unregenerate 
human  heart  craved  climax. 

One  day,  the  afternoon  had  grown 
almost  into  evening,  and  they  did  not 
come.  Trena,  half-asleep  in  her  corner, 
roused  herself  to  go  back,  —  it  was  her  sup 
per  hour.  Before  she  rose  she  heard  voices. 

"  How  can  you  be  so  impatient  ?  "  said 
Miss  Van  Wert,  with  an  inflection  of 
lingering  surprise,  "  with  that  calmness  be 
fore  your  eyes  ?  Look  !  " 

"  Good  heavens,  Judith  !  "  her  compan 
ion  exclaimed,  "haven't  you  had  enough 
of  my  patience  yet  ?  I  should  think  I  had 
had  too  much  even  for  you  !  " 

"  Look  !  "  she  repeated,  insistently. 

u  Yes,"   he   said,  "  it  is  very  beautiful, 
but  it   is  unsympathetic." 
200 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  Oh,  Randal  !  "  she  sighed,  "  sometimes 
I  think  it  is  your  sympathetic  people  that 
do  all  the  harm  in  the  world." 

"  Enough  of  your  paradoxes  !  "  he  said, 
almost  roughly. 

"  Oh,  but  it  is,"  she  persisted.  "  What 
we  want  is  example,  not  sympathy.  Now 
to  drift  into  a  peace  like  that ! "  She 
stood  against  the  wreck,  looking  seaward. 
She  was  in  gray  and  white,  a  soft  gray  that 
blended  with  the  weather-beaten  color  of 
the  ship.  The  sea  was  perfectly  still  be 
yond  the  line  of  the  surf,  which  seemed  to 
roll  in,  curve,  and  break  lingeringly,  almost 
gently,  under  the  hush  of  the  sky.  A 
warm  pink,  felt  rather  than  seen,  glowed 
under  the  translucent  mother-of-pearl  of 
the  sky  and  water.  All  up  and  down  the 
sand  was  a  warm  stillness.  The  distant 
sail  lay  becalmed  in  the  heart  of  the 
rose. 

"  I  do  not  want  peace,"  said  the  man. 
"  I  have  not  your  everlasting  suscepti 
bilities." 

201 


Uneffectual  Fire 

She  laughed  a  little. 

"  How  cruel  you  are  !  "  she  said.  "  If 
it  were  not  for  my  susceptibilities,  as  you 
call  them,  you  would  never  have  cared  for 
me  at  all." 

"  Heaven  knows,"  he  answered,  "  but  I 
do  care  for  you.  I  don't  care  much  why." 

"  But  I  like  my  admirers  to  be  discrim 
inating,"  she  demurred. 

"And  it  is  nothing  to  me  what  your 
admirers  are.  I  am  your  lover." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  she  sighed,  gently  resting 
her  head  against  a  broken  upright  beam, 
and  meeting  his  dissatisfied  eyes ;  "  you 
are  so  dreadfully  uncompromising." 

He  laughed  angrily  —  "  And  you  are  so 
distinctly  temporizing." 

"No,  I  am  not  —  naturally,"  she  re 
plied,  slowly.  "  I  am  halting  between  two 
opinions." 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  The  dissat 
isfaction  died  out  of  his  face,  giving  place 
to  a  keen  scrutiny.  The  warmth  was 
ebbing  from  the  mother-of-pearl,  and 
202 


Uneffectual   Fire 

leaving  only  the  soft  grays, —  like  the 
color  of  her  gown. 

u  I  wonder  if  you  know  what  that  im 
plies,"  he  said,  at  last.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  to  his  frankly,  with  the  same  level, 
unmoved  glance. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  quietly, "  I  know. 
But  I  never  get  far  beyond  implication." 

u  I  wonder  if  you  ever  will,"  he  said, 
half-smiling,  "ever  get  as  far  as  —  " 

"  Confession  ?  "  she  interrupted.  "  Per 
haps.  And  then — well,  then  there  will 
be  something  to  say  besides  good-by,"  and 
she  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Walk  with  me  once  up  the  beach," 
he  said,  "  and  then  come  back,  and  I  will 
say  good-by." 

Trena's  eyes  followed  them  as  they 
moved  up  the  beach.  She  did  not  dare 
wait  for  their  return.  It  was  late,  and 
though  her  mother  had  so  little  time  to 
spare  from  worrying  about  her  father,  she 
might  speculate  concerning  her  absence 
and  possibly  send  someone  to  look  for 
203 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

her.  Moreover,  for  the  first  time,  she 
felt  overpower! ngly  that  she  had  no  right 
to  be  there.  She  shrank  from  witnessing 
their  parting.  Before  it  had  seemed  to 
her  a  spectacle  —  to-night  she  knew  that 
she  was  listening  to  a  man  and  woman 
speaking  one  to  the  other.  She  knew 
how  it  must  end,  and  it  was  this  very  end 
that  she  had  longed  for  —  she  need  not 
wait  to  see  it.  People  who  were  going 
to  say  a  real  good-by  did  not  talk  like  that 
about  it.  Her  instinct  told  her  this  was 
but  the  prelude  to  lovers'  vows. 

Swiftly,  in  the  growing  dimness  which 
blurred  the  distant  outlines,  she  slipped 
out  and  ran  across  the  sand  toward  home. 
The  sail  still  lay  becalmed  on  the  glassy 
gray  of  the  water,  the  gray  of  the  sky  was 
tender  and  warm,  but  the  pulse  of  crimson 
which  had  thrilled  it  with  deeper  meanings 
had  vanished.  Nevertheless,  to  Trena's 
eager  eyes  the  scene  still  thrilled  and 
glowed  with  the  intensity  of  a  lover's 
farewell. 

204 


Uneffectual  Fire 


III 

TRENA'S  mother  regarded  life  on  the  sea 
board  as  a  possession  of  the  frailest  pos 
sible  tenure.  She  was  an  inland  woman, 
born  and  bred,  and  when  she  married  a 
fisherman  she  knew  next  to  nothing  of 
the  apprehension  that  was  henceforth 
to  be  her  daily  food.  She  could  not 
grow  accustomed  to  the  ocean ;  she 
looked  upon  the  confidence  of  those  who 
lived  on  its  shores  and  went  down  into 
it  in  ships  of  all  varieties  of  promise 
and  performance,  as  a  fatalism  little  less 
than  impious.  To  her  it  was  a  medium 
in  which  people  were  drowned,  nor  more, 
nor  less.  And  those  who  trusted  them 
selves  to  a  surface  which  was  never  in 
tended  to  be  relied  upon  were  sure  to 
meet  this  fate  sooner  or  later.  Naturally 
it  was  only  a  matter  of  time  when  her 
husband  should  share  the  common  lot. 
It  would  have  imparted  no  comfort  to 
205 


Uneffectual  Fire 

have  suggested  to  her  that  for  those  who 
dwell  on  the  dryest  kind  of  land  it  is  only 
a  matter  of  time.  Captain  Polton  never 
went  out  in  his  boat  that  she  did  not  think 
that  he  might  not  go  again.  She  had 
learned  to  keep  her  forebodings  to  herself; 
they  were  not,  she  soon  realized,  in  the 
spirit  of  the  place,  and  were  never  received 
by  her  husband  with  anything  but  good- 
humored  ridicule.  But  as  she  made  her 
bread,  or  swept  her  kitchen,  or  fried  her 
fish,  she  cast  glances  at  the  broad,  glisten 
ing,  tumultuous  ocean  which  might  have 
been  those  of  a  Hindoo  worshipper  toward 
a  malignant  deity.  Not  once,  but  many 
times,  had  the  poor  woman's  imagination 
presented  to  her  every  detail  of  the  scene 
she  felt  was  inevitable :  the  heavy  sea,  the 
sturdy,  struggling  boat,  the  final  plunge, 
without  recover,  into  the  trough  of  the 
waves  ;  then,  the  upturned  wreck  floating 
helplessly  in,  and  on  another  day,  perhaps, 
the  finding  of  the  once  strong  form,  on 
the  dreary  beach,  of  the  man  whose  stiff 
206 


Uneffectual  Fire 

hand  would  never  guide  the  rudder  or  furl 
a  sail  again  ;  the  heavy  tramp  of  the  men 
carrying  something  with  a  sail-cloth  over 
it  into  the  little  kitchen.  With  herself 
in  widow's  weeds,  and  Trena  in  deep 
black,  the  forecast  ended  in  sheer  despair. 
This  had  been  enough  in  the  way  of  ap 
prehension  ;  but  now,  while  her  husband 
was  out  later  than  usual  on  a  rough 
night,  and  while  she  listened  for  the  slow, 
heavy  step  of  the  bearers,  she  had  to  note 
that  Trena  had  grown  pale  and  tired- 
looking. 

Partly  in  consideration  for  her  entreaties, 
—  she  did  not  lay  commands,  public  opin 
ion  would  have  pronounced  them  too  un 
reasonable,  —  partly  from  an  indifference 
to  the  pleasure  itself,  Trena  went  out  on 
the  water  very  little,  so  that  the  fact  that 
her  mother's  mind  was  usually  at  rest 
about  her,  made  the  present  anxiety  harder. 
For  that  she  was  anxious  about  her  was 
undeniable,  though  it  was  the  furtive,  re 
pressed  anxiety  of  one  who  has  borne  such 
207 


Uneffectual  Fire 

a  burden  long,  feeling  that  its  expression  is 
unseasonable  and  perhaps  unwelcome. 

One  late  August  evening  the  girl  rose 
listlessly  from  where  she  had  been  sitting 
watching  her  mother  sew,  and  stepped  out 
of  the  open  door. 

"  I  wonder  what  it  is  that  has  gone 
wrong,"  sighed  her  mother,  looking  after 
her.  Had  she  witnessed  the  parting  that 
took  place  on  the  evening  of  the  day,  two 
weeks  before,  when  Trena  had  returned  late 
for  supper  and  gone  out  again  immediately 
after  with  Ben,  she  might  have  guessed. 

The  charm  had  been  upon  Trena  still 
as  she  went  on  by  Ben's  side,  careless 
of  the  direction  in  which  he  led,  careless 
of  the  words  that  he  might  say.  It 
seemed  cruelly  commonplace  to-night,  this 
wandering  across  the  fields  in  this  ordi 
nary  acknowledged  fashion  —  utterly  des 
titute  of  all  the  charm  that  clung  to  the 
half-said  and  the  tacitly  understood.  Ben 
felt  the  coolness  of  her  mood  at  once. 
He  had  come  with  news  to-night — he 
208 


{Ineffectual  Fire 

had  a  chance  to  go  into  business  in  a 
larger  way,  in  a  larger  place;  to  him,  poor 
fellow,  this  evening,  instead  of  being  of  the 
commonplace,  was  touched  with  a  halo  of 
realized  happiness  and  of  dear  possibilities  ; 
they  might  be  married  now,  and  surely, 
in  the  thought  of  this  nearer  relation,  her 
late  tantalizing  capriciousness  and  wound 
ing  indifference  would  yield  to  something 
sweeter  —  so  he  had  hoped  before  they 
met.  The  very  exultance  of  his  antici 
pation  rendered  him  peculiarly  susceptible 
to  the  coldness  of  her  manner;  he  was 
the  more  hurt  by  the  way  in  which  she 
passed  over  his  attempts  to  lead  her  to 
personal  considerations.  It  was  as  if  she 
thrust  back  upon  him  all  that  he  felt, 
and  part  of  which,  with  unusual  demon- 
strativeness,  he  might  have  said.  The 
news  was  still  untold  when  they  finally 
reached  the  end  of  their  walk,  the  only 
mass  of  rock  of  any  considerable  height 
on  this  bit  of  the  coast.  The  darkness, 
that,  hurrying  to  reclaim  the  tender  twilight, 
r4  209 


Uneffectual   Fire 

sweeps  into  the  last  days  of  summer 
with  encroaching  suddenness,  had  cast 
itself  over  sea  and  land.  Ships'  lanterns, 
near  and  far,  were  twinkling  over  the 
water.  A  revolving  light  sent  its  inter 
rupted  message  of  deliverance  across  the 
dimness. 

"  Trena,"  said  Ben,  "  I  'm  going  away." 

Trena's  first  impulse  was  one  of  plea 
sure.  It  was  better  than  she  had  fancied 
possible.  Here  was  a  parting  made  ready 
to  her  hand.  Her  lover,  too,  had  come 
to  say  farewell.  Why  should  they,  too, 
not  have  speech,  half-quiet,  half-passionate, 
by  the  sea  ?  Perhaps  Ben  caught  the 
gleam  of  this  satisfaction  in  her  eyes. 
Certainly  he  did  not  read  there  what  he 
had  hoped  for. 

"  Going  away  !  "   she  replied. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  quietly  enough, 
"  I  came  to  tell  you." 

"  Well  —  the  best  of  friends  must 
part !  "  the  girl  said,  lightly.  He  glanced 
at  her  questioningly.  She  was  gazing  at 
210 


Uneffectual  Fire 

the  distant  horizon,  where  a  faint  lumi- 
nousness  indicated  the  rising  moon. 

u  It  need  n't  mean  that  we  must  part," 
he  went  on,  with  an  effort.  "  Perhaps  it 
means  that  we  can  —  stay  together,"  he 
concluded,  awkwardly. 

"  Stay  together  ?  "  she  repeated,  her 
eyes  still  on  the  horizon,  while  he  watched 
her  eagerly,  longing  for  some  response  to 
the  deep  feeling  in  his  own  heart — so 
deep  that  it  made  words  come  hard.  She 
had  caught  Judith's  very  pose  of  the  head. 
"  And  how  do  you  know  we  shall  like 
that  ?  " 

"  Look  here,  Trena,"  said  he,  roughly, 
"  are  you  listening  to  me  ?  "  She  turned 
toward  him. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  'm  listening  fast  enough." 
Her  imitation  of  Judith's  manner  would 
have  been  amusing  if  it  had  not  been 
pathetic — the  realities  were  so  unlike. 

"  Then,  if  you  are  listening  to  me, 
why  does  n't  it  mean  something  to  you  ?  " 
broke  out  the  man,  passionately.  "  To 

211 


Uneffectual  Fire 

me  it's — what  isn't  it  to  me?  "he  de 
manded,  checked  by  the  force  of  his  own 
emotion.  "  And  you,  you  sit  there  look 
ing  out  to  sea  as  if  you  did  n't  care 
whether  I  lived  or  died,  or  went  or  came  ! 
Is  this  what  it  means  —  all  this  way 
you  've  got  lately,  of  you  will  and  you 
won't,  and  you  wish  things  was  different, 
and  why  don't  I  do  things  that  I  don't 
do  —  is  this  what  it  all  means,  that  you 
don't  care  ?  " 

Trena  was  thrilled  with  excitement. 
She  had  never  seen  Ben  like  this.  This 
was  what  she  wanted  ;  this  outburst,  vio 
lent  as  it  was,  had  in  it  something  of  the 
held-down  intensity  that  now  and  then 
broke  the  bonds  of  sober  speech  down 
there  on  the  sand. 

"  Oh  my,  Ben  !  "  she  laughed,  "  what 
a  fuss  just  because  I  like  to  look  out  to 
sea  !  There  's  too  much  caring  and  not 
caring  in  the  world,  anyhow.  What  will 
it  all  amount  to  in  a  hundred  years  — 
you  and  me  and  our  talk  about  this  and 

212 


Uneffectual  Fire 

that  ?     I  say  I  might  as  well  look  out  to 
sea  as  listen  to  you." 

"  Does  that  mean  that  it  is  n't  anything 
to  you  ?  "  Ben's  voice  was  hoarse.  In 
spite  of  what  he  had  said,  of  his  being 
suddenly  overwhelmed,  as  it  were,  by  the 
evidences  which  seemed  to  rush  toward 
him  from  the  past  two  or  three  weeks,  he 
had  not  believed  that  there  was  no  expla 
nation  but  that  —  that  she  did  not  care, 
that  it  meant  nothing  to  her. 

"  Perhaps  it  does,  and  perhaps  —  oh,  I 
don't  know." 

"  If  that  's  how  you  feel,"  began  Ben, 
with  a  certain  grimness,  "  then  —  " 

"  There  you  go  again,"  she  laughed, 
mockingly.  Her  laughter  caught  an  in 
tonation  of  Judith's,  though  it  was  louder. 
u  Talking  about  feelings  —  sometimes  I 
wonder  if  I  've  got  any." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.     Slowly 
the  misshapen  disk  of  the  moon  rose  above 
the  dark  waters,  and  its  faint  rays  trembled 
upon  their  wavering  surface. 
213 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  If  that 's  the  way  you  feel  —  or  don't 
feel  —  it  don't  make  much  matter  which," 
said  Ben,  slowly,  "  then  there  won't  be 
anything  more  to  say  about  my  feelings. 
I  've  said  my  last  say  on  that.  And  I 
guess  the  less  we  see  of  each  other  the 
better,  and  it  won't  be  long  anyway  that 
there  '11  be  any  chance.  I  'm  going  next 
week."  He  had  spoken  so  far  with  care 
ful  deliberation.  Now  he  rose  to  his  feet. 
u  I  'm  going  home,  now,"  he  said,  and  the 
fire  of  his  anger  blazed  through  his  words, 
"  and  I  'm  sorry  I  ever  came  with  you  ! 
I  'm  sorry  I  ever  saw  you.  You've  fooled 
me  till  you  've  tired  of  me,  and  now  you 
have  done  with  it  —  not  like  a  girl  that 
tells  the  truth  and  gives  a  man  the  go-by 
and  done  with  it,  so  that  he  knows  where 
he  is  and  what  she  is  —  but  with  a  lot  of 
words  that  don't  amount  to  anything ;  and 
that  shows  that  she  's  more  'n  half  afraid 
of  her  own  meaning,  and  that  she  wants 
to  play  with  him  and  let  him  go  at  the 
same  time.  I  'm  tired  of  it,  and  I  'm 
214 


Uneffectual   Fire 

done  with  it,  and  I  'm  done  with  you, 
Trena,  too ! "  He  turned  on  his  heel, 
and  took  long,  quick  strides  over  the 
uneven  grass.  The  whole  moon  had 
risen  now,  and  the  trembling  light  grew 
assured,  though  the  surface  it  shone 
upon  still  wavered.  The  world  had 
come  from  darkness  into  light,  but  sud 
denly  Trena  felt  herself  within  a  cold 
shadow.  This  was  not  what  she  had 
looked  for.  It  was  not  thus  that  the 
scene  was  to  end.  Her  soul  was  filled 
with  dismay. 

"  Ben,"  she  called,  and  her  voice 
sounded  frightened,  "  Ben,  come  back, 
don't  leave  me  here  alone." 

He  paused  and  then  swiftly  retraced 
his  steps.  They  saw  each  other's  faces 
distinctly  in  the  white  radiance. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  briefly.  She  held 
out  her  hands  to  him  to  help  her  rise. 
He  bent  over  her  and  lifted  her  to  her 
feet.  How  strong  he  was  !  She  clung 
to  him,  but  he  put  her  down. 
2I5 


"[Ineffectual  Fire 

"  Come,"  he  said  again,  and  she  fol 
lowed  him  along  the  narrow,  trodden 
footpath.  Just  beyond  they  met  an  older 
man  who  was  going  their  way.  Ben 
dropped  into  the  road  beside  him,  and 
they  went  together  to  Trena's  door.  She 
clinched  her  hands  in  helpless  anger  at 
the  presence  of  this  third  wayfarer.  She 
chafed  wildly  against  the  restraint,  and 
her  heart  was  filled  with  hot,  uncompre 
hending  rebellion  and  self-reproach.  She 
had  an  impulse  to  throw  herself  at  Ben's 
feet  in  the  dusty  road,  and  beg  him  to 
wait,  to  listen;  but  his  face  deterred  her 
—  she  thought  he  might  put  her  one  side 
and  go  on,  and  then  she  should  die.  At 
the  door  the  casual  companion  would  have 
left  them,  but  Ben  bade  her  good-night, 
and  walked  on  with  him.  Only  then 
could  she  burst  into  tears  —  it  had  been 
such  a  pitiable  ending  ! 

She  had  not  seen  him  again,  and  now 
it  was  two  weeks  later.  To-night  the 
anger  and  the  pain  and  the  self-reproach 
216 


{Ineffectual  Fire 

were  not  yet  stilled  and,  as  yet  but  half- 
comprehended.  As  she  stood  in  the  little 
porch,  the  silent  night  brooded  over  the 
waters  and  hushed  the  world  into  listening 
to  the  dolorous  beat  of  the  breakers  on 
the  beach  below.  A  storm  was  rising, 
and  the  wind  brought  its  fresh  dampness 
to  her.  Behind  her  lay  the  little  village, 
dark,  for"  the  most  part,  and  apparently  at 
rest  from  anxieties  and  worryings  ;  at  her 
side,  the  homely  kitchen  and  its  homely 
associations  of  shelter  and  comfort ;  before 
her,  the  great  unrest,  the  merciless,  sym 
pathetic  sea.  She  laid  her  head  on  her 
arms  and  sobbed.  It  was  as  if  all  the 
peace  and  quiet  of  the  village,  all  the 
comfort,  the  soft  shelter  of  affection  and 
strength  were  taken  away  from  her,  and 
she  was  left  alone  to  face  the  wide  unrest 
of  life.  Youth  does  not  discriminate  ;  she 
felt  that  she  had  lost  everything.  Her 
mother  looked  wistfully  out  into  the  dark 
ness,  where  Trena's  figure  was  dimly 
visible. 

217 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  I  never  mistrusted  anything  could 
happen  to  her  on  dry  land,"  said  the 
sailor's  wife  to  herself,  not  without 
pathos. 


IV 

DAY  after  day  went  by,  and  their  hours 
taught  Trena  undreamed-of  things ;  they 
were  peaceful  hours  of  early  autumn, 
when  the  earth  is  at  rest,  and,  having 
seen  the  glow,  and  the  richness,  and 
the  ripeness,  breathes  deeply,  knowing 
that  it  is  very  good.  She  was  always  out 
of  doors.  Sometimes  she  took  the  walk 
through  Whaler's  lot,  where  the  apple- 
trees  sunned  themselves,  and  one  stumbled 
now  and  then  over  a  fallen  apple  in  the 
leaf-strewn  grass  —  the  leaves  prematurely 
old  and  withered.  Usually  she  went 
toward  the  water,  oftenest  to  the  rocks 
where  they  had  parted  finally.  One  day 
she  went  down  to  the  old  wreck.  This 
218 


Uneffectual  Fire 

time  she  took  the  place  where  Kane  and 
Miss  Van  Wert  had  spent  so  many  hours. 
They  had  gone  away ;  she  had  never  seen 
them  again.  Why  was  it,  she  asked  her 
self  for  the  hundredth  time,  why  was  it 
that  what  she  did  had  made  so  different 
an  end  ?  Judith  had  spoken  as  carelessly, 
had  laughed  oftener,  and  yet  he  had  never 
left  her  in  bitterness  —  he  had  known 
that  it  was  not  really  the  end.  He  had 
found  her  again,  of  course,  and  they  were 
happy  somewhere  now;  while  she  —  oh! 
why  could  not  Ben  have  understood  ! 
She  longed  for  the  steadiness  that  had 
been  wont  to  pin  down  her  fluttering 
whims  with  an  apparent  carelessness  that 
she  had  admired  while  she  had  resisted  it. 
The  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  rolled  down, 
and  then  slowly  ceased.  The  calm  of 
Nature  fell  upon  her.  Vague,  great 
thoughts  dawned  in  her  soul.  Her  imagi 
nation  had  a  vision  of  the  realities  and  the 
eternities.  They  were  the  old  thoughts 
that  the  sea  brings  —  the  unsparingness 
219 


Uneffectual   Fire 

of  its  power,  its  lawlessness,  and  its  order. 
Not  to  change  human  misery  into  human 
happiness  would  it  check  one  breath  of 
the  swift  impulse  that  swept  those  waves 
up  the  shore,  and  yet  it  had  so  many 
waves  and  so  much  strength,  such  un- 
wasted  energy,  that  it  might  well  spare 
and  be  merciful.  Humanity  is  so  small 
to  the  greatness  of  nature,  but  the  great 
ness  of  nature  is  not  infinite  —  for  Infinity 
can  take  thought  for  the  littleness  of  hu 
manity.  She  felt  this,  though  she  could 
not  have  said  it,  and  it  was  with  more 
calmness  that  she  went  back  to  her  own 
suffering.  She  had  thrown  away  her  hap 
piness,  though  she  knew  not  how,  and 
they  —  that  slight  girl  in  gray,  and  the 
man  who  stood  by  her  side  —  they  had 
known  how  to  be  happy.  Suddenly  she 
straightened  herself  as  one  who  sees  action 
instead  of  endurance  before  her.  There 
was  one  who  knew  the  secret  of  doing 
and  leaving  undone,  there  was  one  who 
had  led  her  into  the  snare  —  there  was 

220 


Uneffectual  Fire 

but  one  who  could  show  her  the  way 
out ! 

She  herself  had  not  known  how  to 
conjure,  but  had  learned  but  half  the 
secret  —  it  was  for  her  now  to  learn  the 
rest  of  it. 

Three  or  four  days  later  Miss  Van 
Wert  was  sitting  on  the  piazza  of  her 
father's  house  in  one  of  the  suburbs 
of  a  large  city.  It  was,  by  one  of 
New  England's  freaks,  as  warm  as  mid 
summer,  and  the  beauty  of  the  evening 
had  brought  her  outside,  although  the 
leaves  of  the  woodbine  rustled  more  dryly 
than  in  real  summer  nights,  and  there 
was  a  sharper  and  more  active  tone  in 
the  crisp  utterances  of  a  neighboring 
cricket. 

"  So  you  are  sorry  the  summer  is 
over  ?  "  asked  her  companion. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  ;  "  it  seems  to  be 
the  only  season  of  irresponsible  enjoy 
ment  left  us.  In  these  socialistic  times 
it  behooves  us  to  weigh  our  pleasures  crit- 
221 


Uneffectual  Fire 

ically  and  take  them  sadly,  when  winter 
is  upon  us.  But  in  summer  —  oh  !  in 
summer,  nothing  means  anything  or  in 
volves  anything  or  —  "  Judith  paused, 
for  there  was  a  step  on  the  piazza.  She 
looked  toward  the  entrance,  where,  in  the 
light  of  the  electric  lamp,  falling  on  that 
unshaded  part  of  the  porch,  a  girl's  figure 
was  plainly  discernible. 

"Is  Miss  Judith  Van  Wert  here?" 
asked  a  voice  she  did  not  recognize. 
Judith  rose  and  went  forward. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  in  her  low,  even 
tones  ;  "  did  you  wish  to  see  me  ?  " 

u  Yes,"  said  Xrena,  "  I  —  I  want  to 
see  you  very  much."  Her  eyes  wandered 
to  the  man  at  the  end  of  the  piazza.  He 
was  sitting  on  the  railing,  his  face  in  the 
deep  shadow  of  the  woodbine. 

"  That  is  Randal  Kane,  I  suppose,"  she 
said  suddenly.  Judith's  questioning  look 
grew  surprised. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  mechanically, 
"that  is  not  Mr.  Kane." 


Uneffectual   Fire 

u  What !  "  exclaimed  the  girl.  Her 
voice  was  intense  and  anxious.  "  Is  n't 
he  with  you  ?  Does  n't  he  —  does  n't  he 
keep  company  with  you  any  more  ?  " 

A  shade  of  hauteur  fell  across  Judith's 
face. 

"  I  do  not  understand  —  "  she  began. 
Trena  laid  her  brown  hand  on  her 
arm. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  she  said,  in  her 
turn,  as  if  the  other  had  not  spoken.  "  I 
came  to  find  out.  I  thought  you  would 
tell  me."  She  paused  in  pitiful  per 
plexity.  The  ground  was  slipping  from 
beneath  her  feet.  Suddenly  she  grew 
frightened  and  the  tears  came  to  her 
eyes.  She  was  tired  and  alone,  and  Ben 
was  farther  off  than  ever.  It  seemed 
that  this  beautiful  woman  had  made  a 
mistake  herself,  her  lover  had  left  her  too 
—  How  could  she  help  her  ?  Judith 
watched  the  girl  intently.  There  was 
something  here  she  could  not  understand, 
but  there  was  nothing  bold  in  her  voice  or 
223 


Uneffectual   Fire 

manner.  Moreover,  there  was  something 
not  entirely  unfamiliar. 

"  Suppose  we  come  inside,"  she  said, 
quietly,  and  she  turned  to  her  other  visitor, 
"  Will  you  excuse  me  ?  " 

The  man  came  forward  instantly. 

"  I  will  come  another  time,  Miss  Van 
Wert,"  he  said  ;  "  good-night,"  and  with 
a  smile  he  bowed  and  went  by  the  two 
women,  down  the  piazza  steps,  to  the 
gate.  As  he  passed,  Trena  saw  his  face 
in  the  light ;  it  was  that  of  a  man  she  had 
never  seen.  This  little  incident  seemed 
to  demolish  all  her  hopes.  With  a  ter 
rible  oppressive  sense  of  mistake,  she 
dumbly  followed  Judith  into  a  small  re 
ception-room.  Judith  had  remembered 
now.  She  recognized  her  as  a  fisher 
man's  daughter  with  whom  she  had  now 
and  then,  that  summer,  exchanged  a  few 
words.  She  moved  a  low  chair  forward 
as  she  turned  to  her  guest. 

"  We  can  talk  better  here,"  she  said, 
and  then  paused,  struck  by  the  girl's 
224 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

beauty.  She  had  been  pretty  before  — 
she  had  noticed  her  hair  and  eyes  and 
color  —  but  there  had  been  a  change  that 
had  intensified  everything  about  her,  and 
that  made  her  beauty  dramatic  as  she 
stood  in  the  doorway  with  wide,  startled 
eyes,  pale  cheeks,  and  a  certain  weariness 
of  expression. 

"  Won't  you  sit  down  ?  "  said  Judith, 
smiling  with  a  friendliness  the  pathos  of 
the  face  impelled  her  to  express. 

Trena  moved  forward  slowly  and  sank 
into  the  chair.  She  was  exhausted  and 
faint  from  hunger,  though  she  did  not 
know  it,  for  she  had  come  straight  from 
the  railway  station  here.  The  lighted 
room,  the  luxury,  dismayed  her.  But, 
more  than  all  else,  this  being  suddenly 
brought  face  to  face  with  the  woman  who 
had  been  so  constantly  in  her  thoughts  agi 
tated  her.  Every  pose,  every  gesture  of 
Judith's  was  familiar  to  her ;  the  tones  of 
her  voice  struck  her  ear  as  if  she  had  heard 
them  yesterday,  her  scrutiny  had  been  so 
15  225 


Uneffectual   Fire 

keen  and  so  direct.  She  wore  a  different 
dress,  and  it  was  a  different  place,  but  it 
was  the  same  woman. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  he  really  left  you 
that  time  ?  — that  he  never  came  back  ?  " 
asked  Trena,  slowly.  "  Have  you  never 
seen  him  again  ?  " 

The  question  was  certainly  not  without 
significance.  Judith  colored  slowly,  and 
her  eyes  wavered  an  instant  from  their 
calm  steadiness.  Moreover,  she  was 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  understand  her ;  but 
she  had  learned  that  the  easiest  way 
of  meeting  a  difficult  social  situation  is 
usually  the  nearest  at  hand. 

"  I  have  seen  Randal  Kane  since  last 
summer,  oh,  yes !  "  she  said  ;  "  we  are 
very  good  friends,  but  we  do  not  meet 
very  often  in  the  winter." 

"  Don't  you  know  how  to  make  him 
come  back  ?  "  asked  Trena,  with  a  touch 
of  despair. 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  flitted  across 
Judith's  lips,  and  then  a  suspicion  which 
226 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

had  flashed  across  her  mind  made  a  longer 
stay.  Had  the  girl  fallen  in  love  with 
Kane  ?  If  so,  how  much  did  he  know 
of  it  ? 

"  I  have  not  wanted  to  know,"  she  re 
plied,  watching  Trena  without  seeming  to 
do  so.  "  He  does  not  live  here ;  I  do 
not  know  just  where  he  is.  He  writes 
books,"  she  added,  vaguely,  conscious  of 
the  pitiable  inadequacy  of  the  statement. 
To  some  people  it  would  have  explained 
so  much  ;  but,  she  felt  hopelessly,  it  would 
not  help  this  girl  to  understand.  "  He 
has  plenty  to  do  —  plenty  of  people  to 
see."  Xrena's  face  did  not  change. 
Evidently  it  was  his  absence  that  troubled 
her,  not  what  he  might  be  doing  else 
where. 

"  Then  how  am  I  to  make  Ben  come 
back  ?  "  she  asked,  stonily. 

"  Ah  !  there  is  a  Ben,"  thought  Judith, 
relieved.  "  I  cannot  help  you  ;  I  cannot 
even  understand  until  you  tell  me,"  she 
said,  quietly. 

227 


Uneffectual  Fire 

Suddenly  the  girl's  mood  changed. 

"  Why  is  he  not  here  ?  "  she  demanded, 
with  shining  eyes.  "  I  saw  you  together  ! 
I  watched  you  !  I  listened  to  you  !  He 
cared  about  you  —  you  cared  about  him  — 
you  did  not  say  so,  but  I  knew  it.  He 
told  you  he  loved  you,  because  I  heard 
him  !  "  she  went  on,  breathlessly.  "  And 
you  listened  to  him,  and  you  never  told 
him  to  stop  or  to  go  away.  Is  that  all  it 
means  with  you  rich  people  ?  Is  that  all 
it  means  ? "  She  rose  to  her  feet  and 
came  nearer  Judith.  "  I  come  here,  and 
there  's  another  one  here,  and  you  tell  me 
you  do  not  know  where  that  one  is  —  and 
that  you  do  not  see  him  ever."  The  un 
conscious  mimicry  of  her  tone,  which  was 
the  result  of  Trena's  observation,  struck 
Judith  unmistakably  with  a  new  surprise. 
"  Is  that  all  it  comes  to  —  that  you  do  not 
care,  either  ?  And  I  thought  —  I  thought 
you  could  tell  me  how  to  get  Ben 
back  !  "  Her  voice  broke.  "  I  tried  to 
be  like  you,"  she  went  on,  miserably, 
228 


{Ineffectual  Fire 

"  and  that  was  what  you  meant  —  that 
he  should  go  away  and  not  come  back. 
I  was  like  you,"  she  concluded,  with  a 
sob,  "  I  was  —  and  Ben  has  gone  away 
too." 

Judith  had  sat  perfectly  still  as  she  lis 
tened  to  the  girl.  She  had  grown  pale, 
but  had  neither  moved  nor  spoken.  It 
was  as  if  the  fierce  arraignment  had  proved 
her  guilty.  "  Whom  summer  makes 
friends  of,  let  winter  estrange,"  was  say 
ing  itself  over  and  over  in  an  undercurrent 
of  thought.  Now  she  rose  and  led  Trena 
back  to  her  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  she  said,  gently,  "  and  tell 
me  all  about  it.  If  Ben  has  gone,  you 
shall  have  him  back  again  —  I  promise 
you  that."  There  was  something  in  the 
low  voice  that  quieted  the  other  woman. 
"  Yes,  he  shall  come  back,"  repeated 
Judith,  insistently.  "  It  would  break  my 
heart  if  he  did  not !  "  she  exclaimed. 

u  Your  heart  ?  "  asked  Trena,  in  dull 
surprise. 

229 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  Yes,  mine,"  answered  Judith. 

The  story  was  not  long  in  the  telling, 
but  Judith  listened  to  it  with  a  variety  of 
sensations.  It  was  startling  to  learn  of 
the  espionage  to  which  she  had  been  sub 
jected  ;  to  know  that  while  she  had  sup 
posed  herself  alone  with  Kane  their  words 
and  actions  were  scrutinized  by  another 
human  being.  It  was  impossible  not  to 
resent  this ;  but  it  grew  upon  her,  as 
Trena  went  on,  that  their  personalities 
were  nothing  to  this  imaginative  creature  ; 
that  Judith  Van  Wert  had  been  but  a 
woman  with  a  lover;  playing  a  part  that 
had  fascinated  the  observer,  who  had  longed 
to  imitate  it.  This  removal  of  personality 
from  the  scene  made  it  offend  her  less. 
When  Trena  finished,  with  the  same 
abrupt  question,  "  Why  should  it  have 
seemed  so  real,  if  it  was  not  ?  "  Judith 
tried  to  explain  it  to  her,  and  found  herself 
faced  by  impossibilities.  It  was  as  if  she 
spoke  another  tongue.  She  leaned  forward 
as  she  sought  for  the  right  words,  her 
230 


Uneffectual  Fire 

hand  with  its  sparkle  of  gems  on  the  dark 
plush  of  her  chair.  The  glint  of  the 
diamonds  drew  Trena's  eyes.  With  a 
sudden  throb  of  recollection,  "  He  kissed 
your  hand,"  she  interrupted.  Judith  col 
ored  vividly. 

"  You  should  not  have  watched  us  !  " 
she  exclaimed,  quickly. 

"  I  did  not  think  it  was  any  matter," 
said  Trena,  almost  indifferently.  The 
reproach  did  not  touch  her  as  it  would 
afterward.  Then  Judith  went  back  to 
her  impossibilities.  How  trivial  it  sounded 
to  tell  this  eager,  passionate  girl  that  the 
language  she  had  held  to  be  the  language 
of  love  had  been  but  that  of — well,  of 
what  ?  —  sentiment  ?  emotion  ?  idleness  ? 
Yet  it  had  meant  something — a  good 
deal,  perhaps.  It  had  not  been  all  affec 
tation  ;  indeed  it  was  genuine  —  after  a 
fashion.  Only  it  was  not  expected  to 
last  forever ;  they  saw  the  end  from  the 
beginning,  but  they  did  not  say  so  —  no, 
of  course  not.  Judith  found  herself  in 
231 


Uneffectual   Fire 

a  maze  of  contradictions ;  and  yet  there 
had  been  no  ambiguity,  it  had  all  been 
clearly  understood.  Had  it  not  been  ? 
For  an  appreciable  space  of  time  a  quiver 
of  doubt  weakened  her  position.  Was  it 
possible  that  the  difficulty  had  been  with 
the  conception  of  the  parts,  hers  as  well 
as  his  ?  No,  no  —  the  trouble  was  with 
Trena  herself. 

"  Ben  was  right,"  she  said,  when  Judith 
stopped  speaking,  "  it  was  all  just  a  lot  of 
words  that  don't  amount  to  anything,  so 
that  a  man  don't  know  where  he  is  nor 
what  she  is." 

What  use  to  say  to  a  girl  like  this  that 
whom  summer  made  friends  of,  winter 
might  be  permitted  to  estrange ! 

"If  she  were  an  inhabitant  of  another 
world,"  Judith  said  to  an  interested  listener 
afterward,  with  the  impatience  born  of 
self-reproach,  "  it  could  n't  have  been 
harder  to  make  her  understand.  I  felt 
as  if  I  were  being  visited  by  a  —  a  mis 
sionary  from  Mars  !  " 
232 


^Ineffectual  Fire 


THE  next  evening  Trena  walked  into  the 
little  kitchen  where  her  mother  was  frying 
fish.  The  fish  sputtered  cheerfully,  and 
there  was  a  trifling  access  of  cheerfulness 
in  Mrs.  Polton's  manner. 

"  Well,"  she  remarked,  with  the  usual 
lack  of  demonstration  in  persons  of  her 
reticent  sort,  "  so  you  've  come  back  ? 
I  hope  you  got  to  see  your  aunt  —  you  was 
so  anxious  to.  I  never  knew  you  set  so 
much  store  by  your  father's  relations  before." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her,  mother,"  said  Trena, 
smiling  an  instant,  as  she  came  and  stood 
by  the  fire.  "  Where  's  father  ?  " 

"  Ashore,  thank  mercy  !  "  said  the  skip 
per's  wife.  "  His  boat 's  sprung  a  leak  and 
he  's  looking  after  it.  I  s'pose  next  time 
it  springs  one  it  '11  be  in  the  middle  of  the 
sea  "  —  she  sighed  —  "  and  that  '11  be  the 
end  on  him." 

233 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  Oh,  maybe  not,"  said  Trena  absently. 
She  was  still  depressed. 

"  Find  out  where  Ben  is,"  had  been 
Judith's  last  words,  "  and  let  me  know." 
But  what  could  she  do  ?  Judith  had  failed 
her  once,  and  a  great  despair  had  come 
upon  Trena's  soul. 

"  For  the  land's  sake  !  you  're  whiter 
than  a  clam-shell  !  "  said  Trena's  mother 
suddenly.  "  Sit  down,  and  I  '11  give  you 
your  tea." 

When  Captain  Polton  came  in  Trena 
was  more  like  herself. 

"  Where 's  Ben  Shelton  gone  to,  father  ?  " 
she  asked,  abruptly,  as  they  sat  at  the 
supper-table. 

Captain  Polton  was  a  man  to  whom 
anything  that  happened  on  dry  land  was 
as  trees  walking.  At  sea  his  eye  was 
alarmingly  keen :  he  knew  the  special 
quality  of  a  breeze  while  it  was  yet  un 
declared  ;  his  instinct  of  the  whereabouts 
of  the  blue-fish  was  unerring  ;  his  acquaint 
ance  with  monsters  of  the  deep  was 
234 


^Ineffectual   Fire 

both  wide  and  reliable,  —  but  the  shore 
limited  his  investigations.  Therefore  he 
saw  no  particular  significance  in  Trena's 
question,  which  was  not  so  lost  on  her 
mother. 

"He  's  layin'  over  to  Riverton,  I  guess," 
he  answered  between  mouthfuls.  "  Got 
some  kind  of  a  job  over  there.  They  say 
he  's  doin'  well  —  well  as  you  can  on  dry 
land." 

"  The  Lord  made  the  dry  land  for  men, 
and  the  water  for  fishes,"  said  Mrs.  Pol- 
ton,  seeing  her  way  to  a  point ;  "  and  all 
He  did  n't  do  was  to  put  understandin' 
into  the  men,  so  they  'd  know  their  place 
as  well  as  the  fishes  do." 

"  These  here  fishes'  understanding  must 
have  played  'em  considerable  of  a  trick," 
remarked  her  husband,  with  a  gesture, 
nearly  related  to  a  wink,  for  Trena's 
benefit. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Polton,  with  her 
sex's  readiness  in  changing  her  ground,  "I 
do  like  to  see  a  man  eat  with  an  appetite." 
235 


Uneffectual  Fire 

"  Ben  Shelton  's  comin'  over  here  next 
day  after  to-morrow  night,"  volunteered 
the  captain.  Trena  sat  up  straight  in  her 
chair.  "  I  know  because  Stoddard's  boy  's 
borrowed  an  oar  of  me.  He 's  comin' 
late  one  night,  and  going  to  ketch  the 
early  boat  over  to  the  Point  nex'  morning, 
and  Stoddard's  boy 's  goin'  to  pull  him 
over.  He  '11  have  to  leave  'bout  day 
break,  I  reckon.  His  business  ain't  goin' 
to  hender  him  long.  That 's  how  I  happen 
to  know  —  by  the  oar,"  he  concluded, 
conscious  that  this  unusual  supply  of  in 
formation  needed  some  explanation. 

"  Next  day  after  to-morrow  night," 
said  Trena  to  herself. 

The  two  following  days  went  slowly, 
but  when  the  evening  of  the  second  came, 
passed,  and  deepened  into  night,  without 
bringing  to  Trena  any  sign  of  Ben's 
presence,  she  felt  that  they  had  flown. 
One  more  chance  of  seeing  him  remained, 
and  that  she  determined  to  seize,  half  in 
desperation  that  it  was  but  one  more ;  half 
236 


Uneffectual   Fire 

in  faint-hearted  hope  aroused  by  Judith's 
confidence. 

He  was  to  leave  at  dawn  ;  she  knew 
the  little  place  where  Stoddard's  boy's 
boat  was  moored  ;  it  was  overlooked  by 
the  very  rock  where  they  had  parted  ;  she 
should  be  there  to  see  them  go. 

She  woke  with  a  start  as  the  sky  was 
beginning  to  brighten.  She  dressed,  and 
as  it  was  still  too  early  to  expect  to  see 
him,  seated  herself  in  the  small  window 
of  her  room  and  looked  toward  the  grow 
ing  glory  of  the  east,  watching  the  "  day 
fill  its  blue  urn  with  fire."  The  sky  was 
red  and  purple  and  green,  with  a  grand 
waste  of  color  and  pulsing  radiance,  as 
though  this  were  the  last  day  and  the  final 
sun-rising,  and  all  the  beauty  that  was  left 
in  heaven  should  be  lavished  upon  it. 
The  earth  was  still,  in  awed  but  beneficent 
expectation.  Trena  could  not  see  the 
surf,  but  she  heard  its  monotonous  beat 
as  it  rolled  in  solemnly  under  the  glorified 
sky.  Its  sound  was  in  a  different  key 
237 


Uneffectual  Fire 

from  that  of  the  later  day.  It  was  as  if 
it  too  was  hushed  into  a  reverent  waiting 
for  the  advent  of  some  great  Power  that 
was  to  come,  and  listened  for  its  footsteps, 
even  as  it  broke  in  plashing  music  on  the 
shore.  As  the  glory  faded  into  a  con 
centrated  brightness  low  down  in  the 
east,  Trena  rose  and  went  out,  and  as  she 
seated  herself  on  the  rock  "  up  leaped,  of 
a  sudden,  the  sun."  It  was  day,  and  the 
mystery  of  dawn  departed,  and  the  ordinary 
sights  and  sounds  began  to  be.  From  one 
of  the  chimneys,  as  Trena  looked  land 
ward,  curled  a  veil  of  smoke.  From  a 
neighboring  house  a  man  went  from  the 
kitchen  door  for  an  armful  of  wood.  The 
working  of  the  miracle  was  over  —  the 
angel  had  troubled  the  waters  and  had 
gone.  But  the  day  was  still  new,  its  fresh 
ness  yet  unspoiled,  the  clear  mirror  of  its 
hours  was  yet  unbreathed  on  by  human 
care  and  greed  and  selfishness.  Trena 
looked  up  suddenly  and  saw  Stoddard's 
boy,  with  the  oars  over  his  shoulder,  going 
238 


Uneffectual   Fire 

to  his  boat.  Then  she  turned  her  head 
in  the  other  direction  and  saw  Ben  com 
ing  toward  the  shore.  He  would  have  to 
pass  very  near  her.  In  the  stillness  of  the 
morning  content  she  folded  her  hands  and 
waited.  As  he  drew  near  he  saw  her  and 
paused ;  then,  with  the  long,  quick  step 
she  knew,  he  came  toward  her.  How 
handsome  he  was  !  She  had  not  seen  him 
for  so  long  —  so  long.  Stoddard's  boy 
had  gone  into  the  house  for  something  —  it 
was  as  if  they  were  alone  in  a  new  world. 

"  What  made  you  come  here,  Trena  ?  " 
he  said,  looking  down  at  her. 

"  Oh,  Ben  !  "  she  said,  with  tender  im 
patience,  "  you  know  why  I  came  —  it  was 
the  only  place  I  could  find  you." 

"  So  you  wanted  to  find  me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered,  looking  up  at 
him  steadily.  Then  she  laughed  a  little : 
"  I  don't  care  so  much  about  partings  as 
I  used  to,  Ben." 

Stoddard's  boy  came  out  of  the  house 
whistling  as  Ben  sat  down  by  her  side. 
239 


Uneffectual   Fire 

Suddenly  he  stopped  whistling  and  went 
into  the  house  again,  and  left  them  alone 
in  the  early  morning  world.  Only  their 
voices  were  in  their  ears,  with  the  ebb 
and  flow  of  the  water  growing  louder  as 
the  tide  came  in,  as  if  it  were  deepening 
into  the  turmoil  of  the  day. 


240 


The   Chevalier   Saint  Agar 

I 

"  T_T  E  wasn't  the  original   Timothy," 

i-  J-  said  Mrs.  Pinquit  hastily  ;  "  he 
was  his  nephew." 

u  Oh,  then  their  descent  is  only  col 
lateral  ?  " 

"  Only  collateral." 

"  The  original  Timothy  was  an  officer 
in  the  colonial  wars,  and  his  nephew 
simply  justice  of  the  peace,"  explained 
Mrs.  Pinquit,  "and  then  he  married  the 
sister  of  the  Mary  that  afterwards  became 
the  wife  of  the  deputy  governor." 

"  He  was    my  ancestor,"    said  a  voice, 

thin,  but   penetrated  by  a  note  of  decision 

that    defied    the     conclusions    of  a    fuller 

organ.      "  He  left   two   sons,  who    after- 

16  241 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

wards  distinguished  themselves  both  in 
civic  and  military  life.  The  first  was 
one  John,  and  he  went  to  Ipswich,  and 
married  there  one  of  the  daughters  of 
the  commissary  general,  and  left  numerous 
descendants  —  " 

"  I  did  n't  know  the  commissary  gen 
eral  had  more  than  one  daughter,"  said 
Mrs.  Thomas,  occasionally  surnamed  Didy- 
mus  by  her  exasperated  co-patriots. 

"  He  had  three,"  went  on  the  thin  voice. 
"  The  other  brother  came  to  Moosup,  and 
it  was  his  great-granddaughter  who,  at 
the  time  of  the  Revolution,  detained  the 
British  officer  until  a  messenger  could  be 
sent  to  General  Washington.  She  was 
my  great 

"  It  was  from  Moosup  that  my  ances 
tors  came,  the  one  that  left  us  the  silver 
tankard  with  the  arms  of  seven  families 
engraved  on  it,"  said  a  tall,  spare  woman, 
whose  ascetic  appearance  gave  the  lie  to 
any  injurious  reports  sometimes  circulated 
with  tankards  in  families. 
242 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  —  great-grandmother,"  concluded  the 
thin  voice.  "  She  left  my  grandmother 
the  salt-cellar  that  is  the  exact  pattern 
of  the  one  belonging  to  Governor  Win- 
throp  — " 

"  I  have  one  of  those  Moosup  salt 
cellars,"  interrupted  a  second  time  the 
ascetic  speaker.  "  What  was  your  great- 
grandmother's  name  ?  " 

"  Great-^mrt-grandmother.  She  was 
one  of  the  Moos  family  —  Eunice." 

"  Of  course.  Eunice  Moos.  Then 
we  must  be  cousins." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  we  are."  Enthusiasm 
was  absent  from  both  countenances  as 
they  admitted  the  fact. 

"  I  always  thought  my  grandmother 
ought  to  have  had  both  salt-cellars,"  said 
the  thin  voice. 

"  It  seemed  a  pity  to  separate  them," 
replied  the  other  dryly. 

"  Evidently  the   salt  was   spilled,"  whis 
pered  the   one  irreverent   member   of  the 
conclave  to  Mrs.  Pinquit. 
243 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"To  go  back  to  the  question,"  said 
the  presiding  officer  firmly,  "  it  seems  to 
me  that  the  Claim  that  has  just  been  put 
in  is  as  good  as  some  others  that  we  have 
admitted." 

"  And  they  say  that  she  has  traced  nine 
other  lines  of  descent  since  she  entered 
this  one,"  said  another  member  of  the 
committee. 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  my  nineteenth 
finished,"  said  somewhat  querulously  a 
large  woman  who  was  fanning  herself 

&  o 

slowly  and  powerfully.  "  If  I  could  find 
out  whom  the  second  son  of  the  Canters 
of  Canterbury  married,  it  would  be  com 
plete.  I  know  he  was  in  the  militia  and 
that  his  wife  was  the  daughter  of  a 
magistrate." 

"  I  don't  see  how  you  can  know  that 
unless  you  know  the  name  of  the  magis 
trate,"  said  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  Because  he  is  mentioned  in  one  of 
the  earlier  records  as  being  present  with 
c  his  wife  her  father,  a  magistrate,'  "  re- 
244 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

plied  Mrs.  Bloomfield,  with  dignity. 
"  They  drove  fifty  miles  to  attend  the 
convention  that  decided  to  prosecute  the 
Pequot  War—" 

"  I  have  established  my  sixteenth  line 
of  descent,"  said  Mrs.  Maddux,  with  com 
placency,  "  through  the  discovery  of  a 
letter  written  just  after  the  Pequot  War. 
It  was  quite  an  interesting  document.  It 
begins,  l  Now,  God  be  praised,  the  Pe- 
quots  be  all  dead  —  ' : 

"Well,  they  weren't  all  dead,"  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"  They  were  completely  crushed,"  said 
Mrs.  Bloomfield,  coming  to  the  rescue 
with  all  the  authority  of  a  person  who 
could  have  crushed  a  few  Pequots  alone 
and  unaided. 

"  He  ought  to  have  said  what  he  meant," 
murmured  Mrs.  Thomas. 

"The   letter  went  on   to   say  that  the 

writer  had  just  seen  c  one  of  our  hardest 

hitters  his  son'  who  had  been  visiting  his 

mother's  brother  l  a  deputy  ' ;  now  I  know 

245 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

who  that  deputy  must  have  been,  and  this 
statement  makes  it  certain  that  it  is  the 
same  one  mentioned  in  a  contemporary 
journal  as  having  married  an  ancestress 
of  my  own." 

"  Oh,  if  they  married  by  deputy,"  mur 
mured  the  irreverent  member.  Mrs. 
Maddux  went  serenely  on :  "  I  found  the 
record  by  the  oddest  chance.  I  was  look 
ing  for  an  old  valance,  and  I  found  it  too, 
—  a  beautiful  one,  —  and  a  bellows  also, 
at  the  same  place.  We  have  a  pair  of 
bellows  in  every  room  in  the  house  —  we 
had  two  open  fireplaces  put  in  on  account 
of  having  the  bellows,  and  now  I  'm  look 
ing  for  a  Franklin  stove  —  but  this  pair 
belonged  to  an  intimate  friend  of  Gover 
nor  Bradford  of  Massachusetts,  and  I 
could  n't  resist  them,  so  I  got  both,"  —  it 
was  as  if  the  bellows  were  a  horn  of  tri 
umph,  so  swelled  the  paean  of  self-con 
gratulation.  "  And  I  am  not  sorry,  either, 
though  I  must  say  they  knew  the  worth 
of  them  themselves.  And  just  by  an  acci- 
246 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

dent,  while  I  was  measuring  the  valance, 
she  happened  to  mention  that  my  an 
cestress's  name  was  on  the  records  in  the 
Aspetuck  church — " 

"  So  you  have  examined  the  records  of 
the  Aspetuck  church  ?  "  questioned  a  voice 
that  had  not  been  raised  before.  Ruella 
Pinquit  withdrew  her  eyes  from  the  con 
templation  of  the  summer  fields  stretching 
before  the  open  window  on  the  sill  of 
which  she  leaned,  and  looked  at  her  aunt. 
There  was  a  note  of  throbbing  interest  in 
the  question  that  vaguely  caught  her  wan 
dering  attention.  Her  aunt  sat  at  the  toy 
desk  in  the  corner  of  the  room,  her  rigid 
figure  upright,  her  nervous  hands  holding 
the  pencil  with  which  she  now  and  then 
made  a  note  on  the  writing-pad  before 
her.  She  was  the  secretary,  and  it  was 
for  her,  on  such  occasions  as  the  present, 
almost  a  painful  puzzle  to  discriminate 
between  those  matters  which  legitimately 
belonged  to  the  proceedings  and  those  of 
a  more  general  and  personal  description, 
247 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

which  were  apt  to  intrude  themselves.  So 
intense  was  her  application  to  this  prob 
lem  that  she  rarely  spoke ;  but  now  that 
she  had  asked  her  question,  she  looked 
anxiously  at  Mrs.  Maddux,  awaiting  her 
reply. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  examined  them  carefully." 
"  Were  they  easily  decipherable  ?  " 
"  Yes,  by  one  accustomed  to  the  style 
of  colonial   records,"   said    Mrs.   Maddux 
rather  grandly. 

"  And  bellowses,"  supplemented  the 
irreverent  member.  She  did  not  smile, 
and  Mrs.  Pinquit,  who  was  presiding,  did 
not  know  whether  she  ought  to  be  reproved 
or  not. 

"  Did  you  happen  to  notice  the  name 
of  Dunstable  ? "  asked  Ruella's  aunt. 
Ruella  turned  her  gaze  idly  back  to  the 
fields  whence  breathed  the  scent  of  new- 
mown  hay.  It  was  just  that  old  Dun- 
stable  question  again.  It  was  always 
cropping  up,  and  Aunt  Freewill  was  as 
bad  as  grandfather. 

248 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  I  can't  say  —  but  now  you  speak  of 
it,  I  think  I  did  —  spelled  with  a  little 
d\" 

"  Yes,"  breathed  Miss  Pinquit. 

"  Well,  perhaps  —  but  to  tell  the  truth 
there  didn't  seem  to  me  to  be  much  in 
the  records  except  double  j's  with  an/" 
or  two." 

"  Must  have  been  all  fuss,"  said  irrev 
erent  Mrs.  Maynew  in  Ruella's  ear. 
"  There  's  my  boy,  come  to  take  me  home 
in  the  cart.  Go  out  and  talk  to  him, 
Ruella ;  otherwise  he  '11  commit  suicide 
and  I  shall  have  no  posterity  to  transmit 
my  insignia  to." 

Ruella  looked  up  gratefully  at  Mrs. 
Maynew,  who  stood  beside  her.  She  was 
very  much  bored  with  the  Colonial 
Dames,  but  her  mother  made  her  attend 
the  committee  meetings.  It  seemed  to 
her  that  life  was  largely  made  up  of  com 
mittee  meetings,  particularly  in  warm 
weather.  In  smiling  assent  she  rose  and 
stepped  out  through  the  glass  door. 
249 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Ruella  ?  " 
asked  the  presiding  officer,  with  an  accent 
of  complaint. 

"  I  begged  her  to  go  out  and  talk  to 
Percy,"  said  Mrs.  Maynew,  as  she  returned 
to  her  seat.  "  You  were  saying  that  the 
individual  under  consideration  is  eligible  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  chairman  absent- 
mindedly,  and  she  sighed  as  she  looked 
after  her  daughter's  retreating  form ;  but 
Mrs.  Maynew  had  twenty-one  established 
lines  of  descent  from  the  Founders,  and 
there  was  not  much  use  interfering  with 
her. 

"  Her  chief  claim  rests  on  a  constable," 
said  the  thin  voice,  and  the  secretary  made 
a  note. 

u  Well,    if  c  a    good  man  and    true,'  ' 
began  Mrs.  Maynew,  "  or  only  '  senseless 
and  fit  — '" 

"  We  must  be  very  careful,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Bloomfield  thoughtfully,  "  and  of 
course,  though  descent  is  a  great  deal,  it 
is  n't  everything." 

250 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  No,  not  everything,"  said  Mrs.  Pin- 
quit;  and  while  the  discussion  was  taken  up 
by  the  others,  with  another  sigh  she  glanced 
about  her,  and  then  out  of  the  window  at 
Ruella,  where  she  sat  talking  with  Percy 
Maynew.  All  was  so  successfully  colo 
nial, —  the  house,  the  furniture,  even  her 
own  manner, —  all  except  Ruella.  Ruella 
was  distinctly  modern.  She  had  jumped 
into  the  dogcart  and  sat  there  bareheaded, 
her  golden  hair  rolled  into  an  aggressive 
knot  with  an  exclamatory  gold  hairpin 
thrust  through  it,  her  blue  eyes  blinking 
a  little  in  the  dazzle. 

"  Don't  scowl,"  said  Percy.  "  You 
are  not  so  good-looking  when  you  scowl." 

"  I  am  good-looking  enough  for  you 
any  time,"  retorted  Ruella. 

It  is  to  be  feared  not  even  their  conver 
sation  was  colonial. 

One  by  one  the  Dames  departed.  Mrs. 
Maynew  took  Ruella's  place  in  the  cart. 
Mrs.  Bloomfield  sauntered  slowly  down 
the  driveway  with  the  thin  voice  enunciat- 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

ing  uncompromising  doctrines  in  her 
placid  ears. 

"  Of  course  it 's  very  hard  to  get  round 
a  Signer,"  she  assented  as  she  turned  the 
corner. 

"  I  should  say  so,"  the  thin  voice 
drifted  back  to  Mrs.  Pinquit  and  her 
sister-in-law  as  they  watched  them  go. 

"  That's  a  beautiful  miniature  that  Mrs. 
Maddux  wears,"  said  the  former,  with  a 
throb  of  envy,  "  that  miniature  of  her 
great-grandmother." 

11  How  do  you  know  it  's  her  great- 
grandmother  ? "  inquired  Miss  Pinquit 
calmly. 

"  She  said  it  came  down  in  the  family, 
and  —  " 

"  It  came  down  in  somebody's  family, 
no  doubt,  and  no  doubt  it 's  somebody's 
great-grandmother,  and  it 's  a  very  pretty 
miniature ;  but  I  think  if  Mrs.  Maddux  got 
it  in  the  line  of  descent  at  all,  it  came  to 
her  collaterally  —  oh,  very  collaterally  in 
deed,"  and  with  a  smile  of  well-bred  irony 
252 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

Miss  Pinquit  turned  away  and  ascended 
the  broad  stairway  with  landings  and  a 
colonial  handrail. 

There  had  been  a  time  when  Mrs.  Pin- 
quit  had  patronized  and  occasionally 
ignored  her  husband's  sister,  but  the  Colo 
nial  Dames  had  changed  all  that.  Unbroken 
lines  of  descent,  including  an  officer  in  the 
colonial  wars,  three  deputy  governors,  an 
entertainer  of  Washington,  two  revolu 
tionary  generals,  a  distinguished  divine, 
and  a  naval  commander  of  the  War  of 
1812  had  established  their  relations  upon  a 
new  basis,  and  Mrs.  Pinquit  now  accepted 
Miss  Pinquit's  dryness  of  speech  with 
a  heart  expanding  in  thankfulness  that 
Ruella's  relations  had  a  good  right  to  it. 


II 

"  FATHER,"  said  Freewill,  as  she  opened 

the  door  of  a  room  lined  with  bookcases 

save  where  two  broad  windows  admitted 

253 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

the  morning  sun,  "  Mrs.  Maddux  says  she 
has  seen  the  Aspetuck  records  and  she 
believes  there  is  a  mention  of  Dunstable." 

An  old  man  sitting  by  the  writing-table 
looked  up  quickly.  His  fine  face,  with  its 
prominent  cheek  bones,  its  sunken  eyes, 
and  its  intellectual  forehead,  gleamed  with 
a  sudden  eagerness. 

"  Is  she  sure  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Sure,  no,"  answered  Freewill,  as  she 
came  into  the  room.  "  What  woman  was 
ever  sure  of  a  matter  of  that  kind  unless  it 
was  for  her  own  interest  ?  Certainly  not 
Mrs.  Maddux.  But  it  is  worth  inves 
tigating,"  she  added,  as  she  stood  leaning 
on  the  table  and  looking  down  on  her 
father.  His  thin  hand,  which  trembled  a 
little,  reached  out  and  picked  up  a  sheaf  of 
papers. 

"  Yes,  yes,  indeed  it  is,"  he  said,  hur 
riedly.  "  It 's  there  if  it  is  anywhere,  I  am 
sure  of  that."  He  singled  out  one  from 
the  bundle  of  papers  and  unfolded  it  with 
impatient  but  not  rapid  fingers.  u  Aspe- 
254 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

tuck — here  it  is,"  and  he  read  aloud: 
"  '  This  sixth  son  is  said  to  have  been  estab 
lished  in  the  town  of  Aspetuck,  than  which 
nothing  can  be  imagined  more  unlikely, 
but  not  by  a  finite  knowledge  to  be  over- 
hastily  and  heedlessly  pronounced  impos 
sible,  since,  in  the  Providence  of  God, 
stranger  things  have  come  to  pass,  yea, 
many  a  time  and  oft '  —  the  merest  accident 
my  finding  it  in  that  old  correspondence, 
Freewill,"  and  Mr.  Pinquit  tapped  it 
nervously  as  he  watched  her  face.  She 
nodded  assent,  an  assent  she  had  indicated 
more  than  once  before,  but  the  words  held 
for  her  the  same  perennial  interest  that  her 
father  found  in  them.  "  That  writer," 
went  on  Mr.  Pinquit,  "  thinks  it  unlikely, 
but  I —  "  and  he  pushed  back  his  chair, 
resting  his  hands  on  its  arms,  preparatory 
to  the  effort  of  rising,  still  holding  the 
paper  in  his  uncertain  grasp,  "  I  think  it 
likely,  I  think  it  highly  probable,  and  in 
one  sense  I  know  more  than  a  contem 
porary  about  the  probabilities,"  and  he  rose 
255 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

and  moved  restlessly  across  the  room  to 
one  of  the  bookcases.  "  I  have  all  these  to 
help  me,"  and  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  shelf 
before  a  row  of  books  and  pamphlets,  half 
indicating  them,  half  supporting  himself. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Freewill 
briefly  in  answer  to  his  look. 

"  We  must  go  and  see,  my  daughter," 
said  the  frail  old  man,  "  we  must  go  and 
see." 

"  Yes,  we  must  go  —  as  soon  as  you 
feel  equal  to  it.  It  will  settle  matters  once 
and  for  all." 

"  Yes,  once  and  for  all,"  he  repeated,  as 
he  took  down  one  of  the  books  and  returned 
with  it,  walking  a  little  unsteadily,  to  his 
former  seat.  Freewill's  heart  misgave  her 
as  she  saw  the  feverish  excitement  revealed 
in  the  glance  of  his  dim  eyes  as  he  turned 
the  leaves  with  fluttering  eagerness.  She 
could  bear  another  disappointment,  if  dis 
appointment  were  in  store  for  them,  but 
could  her  father's  weakness  bear  even 
success  ? 

256 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

His  white,  shrunken  finger  was  tracing 
the  lines  of  the  page  before  him.  " c  The 
Chevalier  Saint  Agar,'  "  he  read  again, "'  is 
a  unique  figure  of  the  time.  The  friend 
of  Cromwell  and  the  serious  sharer  of  his 
weighty  and  God-fearing  deliberations,  yet 
preserving  the  gay  courtesy  of  an  earlier 
period,  and  an  exquisite  grace  of  gallantry, 
inherited  from  a  long  line  of  noble  forbears, 
amid  the  stern  rigors  and  cruel  necessities 
of  a  civil  and  religious  war.  A  man  on 
whom  women  and  children  smiled,  yet 
whose  indomitable  conscience  and  sublime, 
unerring  singleness  of  purpose,  the  fanatics 
of  Barebone's  Parliament  and  Cromwell's 
Ironsides  recognized  and  bowed  before. 
A  man  whose  ancestral  acres,  spared  alike 
by  Revolutionist  and  Royalist,  yielded  him 
gold  pieces  in  plenty,  but  who  held  them 
lighter  than  motes  of  dust  when  weighed 
against  the  smallest  scruple  of  English 
liberty.  A  man  to  whom  Cromwell  bared 
his  stormy  soul,  and  who  strengthened  his 
right  hand,  yet  who  found  time  to  pity 
17  257 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

Charles  in  his  fallen  folly,  —  such  was  the 
Chevalier  Saint  Agar '  and  such,"  added 
the  old  man  solemnly,  as  he  paused  and 
raised  his  eyes  to  Freewill,  who  still  stood 
leaning  on  the  table,  drinking  in  the  slow 
accents,  "  such,  my  daughter,  I  believe 
was  your  ancestor  and  mine." 

She  came  swiftly  around  to  her  father's 
side  and  sank  into  a  low  chair.  All  her 
doubts  were  quelled  ;  it  was  worth  so  much 
to  claim  such  a  lineage  —  it  was  worth  a 
thousand  risks  ! 

"  And  I  believe  it  too  !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  We  must  go  and  we  must  find  the  proof. 
You  have  done  so  much  —  only  the  record 
of  that  one  marriage,  and  the  chain  is 
complete." 

Already  her  father  had  turned  to  the  next 
page.  "  '  Of  his  sons,'  "  he  read  aloud, 
" l  who  lived  in  dignified  retirement  during 
the  reign  of  the  second  Charles,  one  was 
welcomed  with  the  stately  respect  that  even 
that  frivolous  monarch  knew  how  to  as 
sume,  when  on  rare  occasions  he  appeared 
258 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

in  public,  and ' — that  is  not  what  I  am 
looking  for.  Oh,  here  — i  those  who  were 
numbered  among  the  American  colonists 
filled  various  stations  of  trust  and  honor, 
being  ever  found  among  the  foremost  in 
the  worship  of  God  and  the  freedom  of 
man.  We  see  the  name  appearing  now 
and  then  in  the  chronicles  of  the  earlier 
period  as  that  of  a  companion  of  Winthrop, 
a  remonstrant  with  Endicott,  an  opponent 
of  Sir  Edmund  Andros,  and  even  as  late  as 
that  of  a  confidant  of  Samuel  Adams ;  but 
here  the  family  is  lost  sight  of,  and  it  is 
believed  that  there  are  now  no  claimants 
of  this  illustrious  lineage.'  "  The  old  man 
rose,  and,  closing  the  book,  returned  it  to  its 
place.  It  was  as  if  the  re-reading  of  the 
record  had  been  a  draught  of  wine.  His 
step  was  firmer,  his  eye  brighter,  and  his 
voice  more  assured. 

"  So,  the  historian,"  he  said,  turning  back 

to   his   daughter,   and    standing    erect,   his 

clean-cut,   scholarly   head   with    its    white 

hair  outlined  against   the  dusky   reds  and 

259 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

browns  of  the  volumes,  "  and  it  is  for  you 
and  me,  Freewill,  to  prove  him  wrong  in 
one  conclusion  —  the  last." 


Ill 

CONVERSATION  about  the  Pinquit  table 
was  apt  to  take  a  turn  towards  genealogy, 
and  that  of  to-day's  luncheon  received  an 
additional  impetus  in  this  direction  from 
the  events  of  the  morning. 

"  No  one  in  Washington  could  ques 
tion  her  right  to  be  there,"  said  Mrs.  Pin- 
quit  confidently.  "  Her  family  is  well 
known,  and  its  record  what  one  might  call 
triumphant." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  think  she  is  the  one  to  go," 
said  Freewill. 

"  But  Mrs.  Maddux  means  to  go,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Pinquit. 

"  I  guess  they  pretty  much  all  mean 
to  go,  don't  they  r  "  asked  her  husband 
cheerfully. 

260 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

His  attitude  of  tolerant  kindliness 
towards  colonial  revivals  was  peculiarly 
exasperating  to  his  wife,  and  she  failed  to 
see  that  he  had  a  sturdy  sort  of  ancestral 
pride  of  his  own. 

"  Who  is  Mrs.  Maddux  ?  I  don't  re 
member  any  Madduxes  in  our  early  rec 
ords,"  said  old  Mr.  Pinquit  peevishly. 

"  Maddux  is  the  best  broker  in  town," 
said  his  son.  "  Ought  to  be  good  stock." 
This  was  more  than  Mr.  Pinquit's  family 
could  bear  even  from  him  —  except  Ruella. 
Ruella  laughed. 

"  Guess  you  'd  better  send  Ruella  to 
Washington,"  he  went  on,  willing  to  make 
amends  by  a  tardy  interest.  "  What  is  the 
matter  with  her  being  a  delegate  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  a  delegate,"  said 
Ruella. 

"  I  cannot  understand  Ruella,"  said 
Mrs.  Pinquit.  "  How  a  girl  with  a  colonial 
governor,  a  noted  clergyman,  two  revolu 
tionary  officers,  not  to  mention  others,  in 
her  immediate  ancestry  can  be  so  indiffer- 
261 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

ent,  passes  my  comprehension."  And 
Mrs.  Pinquit  wondered  for  the  hundredth 
time  if  her  child  would  have  turned  out 
better  if  she  had  named  her  more  judiciously. 
Ruella  was  a  combination  of  her  father's 
and  mother's  names  —  Reuben  and  Ella. 
It  had  seemed  such  a  pretty  idea  at  the 
time  —  before  the  colonial  renaissance. 
She  realized  with  such  hopeless  keenness 
now  that  the  period  for  pretty  ideas  was 
over.  With  a  Freewill  right  in  the  family, 
too  —  how  she  had  laughed  at  that  name 
when  she  first  heard  it,  and  thought  it 
dreadful !  Priscilla  or  Dorothy  would  have 
done,  but  Freewill  would  have  been  infi 
nitely  better  — oh,  it  was  too  hard  !  One 
of  her  husband's  most  trying  eccentricities 
was  that  he  liked  Ruella's  name  as  well 
to-day  as  ever. 

"Then  there  was  the  Pinquit  that  did 
that  plucky  thing  in  New  York  when 
Governor  Fletcher  —  " 

"  Reuben  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Pinquit,  "  he 
was  a  Tory  !  " 

262 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  her  husband,  who 
was  quite  used  to  raking  up  the  wrong 
ancestor  when  he  tried  to  be  sym 
pathetic. 

"  A  time  server  !  A  renegade  !  "  ex 
claimed  old  Mr.  Pinquit  fiercely. 

"  Wait  till  we  make  out  the  line  that 
connects  us  with  the  Chevalier,"  said 
Freewill.  "  Then  even  Ruella  will  be 
glad  to  go." 

"  In  that  case  Ruella  would  live  to  be 
President,"  said  Mrs.  Pinquit  solemnly, 
"  but  —  "  and  she  shook  her  head  in  far- 
seeing  negation.  Not  Caesar  putting  aside 
the  bauble  of  a  crown  could  have  been 
more  proudly  forbearing.  She  refused 
flatly  to  believe  in  the  Chevalier.  He  was 
too  great  a  personage;  she  could  not  trifle 
with  such  possibilities. 

"  Oh,  the  Chevalier,"  said  Reuben  Pin- 
quit  jovially.  "  How  near  have  we  got  to 
him  now  ?  "  He  had  no  objection  to  the 
Chevalier;  he  seemed  to  him  rather  an  in 
teresting  old  boy,  though  he  privately  be- 
263 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

lieved  that  he  hadn't  been  half  the  busy 
man  he  was  himself. 

"  Father  and  I  are  going  to  Aspetuck 
next  week,  if  he  is  able,"  answered  Free 
will,  rising,  "  to  look  up  the  last  clue." 

"  I  hope  you  '11  find  it,  Aunt  Freewill," 
said  Ruella  lightly,  as  she  pinned  on 
her  sailor  hat.  "  I  like  the  Chevalier 
myself." 

Miss  Pinquit  accompanied  her  father  to 
his  study. 

"  We  must  do  it  and  do  it  alone,  my 
daughter,"  said  he  as  he  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  Yes,"  she  assented.  They  recognized 
with  equal  clearness  the  difference  between 
their  own  emotion  and  the  fleeting  super 
ficial  interest  of  the  others.  Instead  of  an 
idle  or  conventional  curiosity,  it  wore  the 
sacredness  of  a  passion. 

Ruella  wandered  idly  across  the  lane, 
over  a  rustic  bridge,  and  so  down  to  a 
meadow  where  they  were  making  hay. 
Seating  herself  at  the  base  of  a  haystack 
she  made  herself  comfortable  to  its  mani- 
264 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

fest  detriment.  Throwing  her  head  back 
against  the  warm  fragrance,  she  let  her 
eyes  wander  over  the  fields.  How  much 
better  this  was  than  an  excursion  into  the 
musty  Past !  How  much  better  to  be 
alive  than  to  be  dead  !  —  as  dead  as  the 
Chevalier !  The  breeze,  sweet  with  the 
scent  of  the  basking  hay,  blew  her  hair 
about  her  forehead  as  she  took  her  hat  off 
and  threw  it  aside.  Poor  Aunt  Freewill, 
who  had  gone  upstairs  again  with  grand 
father  to  look  up  genealogies,  instead  of 
coming  out  into  the  fields  !  Was  there 
ever  a  Chevalier,  she  wondered.  It  was  a 
pity  that  he  should  n't  perch  on  their  family 
tree  since  they  wanted  so  to  find  him  there. 
She  believed  it  would  half  kill  them,  if  they 
did  n't  do  so,  this  time.  How  frail  grand 
father  looked,  and  how  quickly  he  grew 
excited !  Well,  she  wished  she  could 
find  a  record  for  them  —  it  was  pathetic 
the  way  they  had  so  little  to  make  them 
happy,  boring  themselves  in  grandfather's 
study  when  it  was  like  this  outside. 
265 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

Apparently  Percy  Maynew  had  been 
well  entertained  in  the  morning,  for  he  now 
dropped  down  beside  her  in  the  hay.  The 
presence  of  this  modern  young  man  was 
enlivening,  it  fitted  perfectly  the  environ 
ment,  but  nevertheless  in  Ruella's  mind 
the  strain  of  sympathetic  thoughtfulness 
maintained  itself.  The  warmer  and  sweeter 
grew  the  golden  afternoon,  the  more  em 
phatic  grew  the  sense  of  her  aunt's  chilly 
isolation,  and  the  more  positive  her  wish 
that  what  seemed  the  one  chance  of  happi 
ness  in  this  isolation  might  be  realized. 

"  I  'm  going  up  to  Aspetuck  to  spend 
Sunday,"  said  Percy,  as  he  stretched  his 
arms  in  luxuriant  idleness  over  his  head  and 
grasped  a  handful  of  the  withered  grass. 

"  Aspetuck  !  "  and  Ruella  looked  around 
at  him  with  startled  eyes. 

"  Be  calm,"  he  reassured  her.  "  I  did 
not  say  the  Klondike,  I  said  Aspetuck, 
not  more  than  half  a  day's  journey  as  the 
crow  flies  —  or  the  schedule  lies  —  on  a 
branch  road." 

266 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"Yes,  I  know,  but  —  what  are  you  go 
ing  to  Aspetuck  for  ?  " 

"  To  visit  an  aunt  —  wants  me  up  for 
Sunday  —  two  girls." 

u  Aunt  Freewill  thinks  they  will  find 
the  Chevalier  at  Aspetuck,"  said  Ruella 
thoughtfully. 

"  Don't  know  him,"  observed  Percy 
flippantly.  "Does  he  happen  to  keep  the 
general  store  ?  " 

"  And  grandfather,"  proceeded  Ruella 
undisturbed.  "  It  seems  such  a  pity  they 
should  n't  find  him." 

"  They  '11  find  him  if  he  's  there.  He  's 
got  to  be  in  one  of  three  houses  or  a  barn." 

"  There  's  an  old  church,  is  n't  there  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  very  old  church.  Does  the 
Chevalier  go  to  meeting  of  a  week  day  ?  " 

"  Listen,  Percy,"  said  Ruella.  "  Aunt 
Freewill  and  grandfather  don't  care  about 
anything  in  life  but  finding  their  descent 
from  the  Chevalier.  You  've  no  idea. 
It  is  n't  like  the  rest  of  them.  It 's  kind 
of  a  religion.  It 's  because  they  admire 
267 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

him  so  —  and  they  don't  care  for  things 
like  —  oh,  like  this  !  "  and  she  waved  her 
pretty  arm  in  a  comprehensive  gesture. 
"  Aunt  Freewill  used  to,  but  now  she 
goes  off  after  clues  with  grandfather,  and 
they  've  found  some,  but  they  don't  find 
the  clue,  you  know,  and  it 's  such  a  dreary 
life  — just  going  after  clues  !  " 

Suddenly,  from  the  vivid  sympathy  of 
her  tone  he  too  caught  the  contrast  between 
an  existence  full  of  the  warmth  and  color 
of  the  Present,  and  one  cold  and  cheerless 
save  for  reflected  gleams  from  a  fading 
Past. 

"  Well,"  he  said  as  Ruella  paused. 

"And  the  last  clue  —  the  very  last 
clue,"  she  went  on,  "  is  at  Aspetuck.  At 
least  they  believe  it  is  there.  Oh,  Percy  !  " 
and  Ruella  sat  up  straight  and  clasped  her 
hands,  "  it  will  be  such  a  pity  if  they  don't 
find  it  !  " 


268 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 


IV 


IT  was  a  week  later  that  Freewill  Pin- 
quit  and  her  father  made  their  journey  to 
Aspetuck.  They  took  it  by  easy  stages 
on  account  of  the  old  man's  probable 
fatigue,  spent  the  night  at  the  nearest  hos 
telry,  and  drove  over  the  next  day.  It  was 
a  fresh,  dewy  morning,  but  the  sun  was 
rapidly  drying  off  the  tangle  along  the 
country  road,  which,  however,  still  sparkled 
in  its  shadier  masses,  the  horse  jogged  com 
fortably  on,  and  old  Mr.  Pinquit  lay  back, 
warmed  by  the  sunshine,  and  expanding 
in  the  atmosphere  of  hope,  while  Freewill 
held  the  reins,  her  steadfast  gaze  now  and 
then  scanning  the  horizon  for  the  first 
glimpse  of  Aspetuck  steeple. 

"  To  feel  ourselves,  through  the  blood 
of  an  ancestor,  near  to  that  man  of  might, 
that  man  of  God,  Oliver  Cromwell !  " 
exclaimed  her  father.  "  That  man  who 
was  made  a  judge  and  a  divider,  and 
269 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

o 

whom  nor  glory  nor  lust  of  power  could 
blind !  Oh,  Freewill,  it  is  a  heritage 
worth  weariness,  even  tears."  Freewill 
murmured  a  quiet  but  ready  assent.  She 
had  grown  up  warmed  by  the  flame  of 
her  father's  enthusiasm  for  the  Round 
heads,  and  above  all  for  Cromwell,  and 
her  life  had  been  singularly  free  from 
other  devotions. 

It  was  the  haying  season  still.  As  they 
passed  through  the  softly  rolling  country, 
all  mankind  seemed  employed  in  healthful 
unison  with  Mother  Earth.  The  laborers 
were  hardy,  tanned,  broad-shouldered,  and 
strong-armed.  Here  they  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  falling  golden-green  grass, 
swinging  with  the  unconsciousness  of  rus 
ticity  the  keen,  rhythmic,  sweeping  scythe. 
Further  on,  a  group  about  a  loaded  haycart 
stood  as  if  posed  for  picturesqueness  and 
the  joy  of  harvest.  Every  movement, 
from  the  scythe  to  the  pitchfork,  regular, 
purposeful,  free.  There  was  nothing  arti 
ficial,  nothing  cramped.  The  sun  was 
270 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

hot,  and  the  fleecy  clouds  on  the  horizon 
tended  to  swiftness  and  precision,  for  dan 
ger  may  be  in  the  air  and  destruction  may 
walk  at  noonday.  Freewill  found  herself 
watching  with  a  novel  pleasure  the  great 
forkfuls  of  hay  lifted,  not  with  exhaust 
ing  effort,  but  with  the  ease  of  unwasted 
force.  The  men  raised  their  arms  as  if  in 
athletic  sport,  and  steadily  the  fragrant 
masses  grew  less  in  the  field  and  greater 
in  the  loft.  The  perfume  of  the  dried 
grass  was  in  the  nostrils  of  all  breathing 
things.  They  had  left  behind  a  noisy  little 
town  where  were  the  sound  of  wearing 
machinery,  the  clank  of  whirring  wheels, 
but  this  was  labor  none  the  less,  in  a  silence 
like  that  of  creation,  not  amid  the  din  of 
man's  inventions.  Sunshine  and  perfume 
and  strength  were  here  and  to  spare,  earth 
gave  of  her  increase,  and  man  labored  and 
gathered  into  barns. 

u  He  who  mowed    down  disruption  and 
rebellion  and  tyranny  with  a  consecrated 
sword,"  her  father  was  saying,  "  and  before 
271 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

whom  the  stubble  'of  unrighteousness  was 
trodden  out  in  blood,"  and  with  a  guiding 
hand  upon  the  lax  rein  Freewill  turned  the 
horse  into  Aspetuck  Street.  There  was 
really  little  on  either  side  of  the  broad  green 
in  the  middle  but  the  three  houses  and  the 
barn  of  Maynew's  rapid  sketch,  and  it  was 
a  matter  of  no  difficulty  whatever  to  gain 
entrance  to  the  old  church  and  a  sight  of 
the  records.  With  a  rapidly  beating  heart 
Freewill  watched  the  custodian  lay  the 
book  down  on  the  table  within  their  reach. 
There  had  been  so  many  people  lately  to 
examine  the  records  that  the  request  gave 
him  but  a  passing  gleam  of  interest,  and 
he  left  them  alone  in  the  dim,  bare  little 
church.  Old  Mr.  Pinquit  shivered  a  little 
as  he  turned  the  leaves.  Freewill  was  too 
intent  upon  their  object  to  even  notice  the 
change  from  the  glow  without  to  the  chilly 
gloom  within.  The  yellowed  pages  with 
their  cramped  handwriting  danced  deco 
rously  before  her  eager  gaze. 

For  what   seemed   an  age  they  searched 
272 


"  BENDING   FORWARD,   SHE   READ  " 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

in  vain.  Once  the  name  of  Dunstable 
flashed  from  the  page  in  the  marvellous 
prominence  that  certain  words  and  phrases 
sometimes  assume.  But  it  led  to  noth 
ing  ;  it  seemed  to  relate  to  nothing.  Free 
will  sank  wearily  back  against  the  hard 
seat.  It  was  bitter,  bitter.  She  looked 
up  at  the  dusty  panes  and  the  ungainly 
pulpit  —  she  was  living  in  the  Past,  and  it 
held  nothing  for  her.  She  pressed  her 
hands  over  her  eyes  in  miserable  disap 
pointment.  An  exclamation  from  her 
father  roused  her.  She  was  startled  by 
his  pallor  and  the  fire  in  his  aged  eyes. 
Bending  forward,  she  read  the  words 
that  lay  under  his  tense  finger.  It 
was  the  record  of  the  marriage  of  Mal- 
vina  "  dunstable "  and  Joseph  Ranard. 
Taken  by  itself  it  was  very  little ;  fitted 
into  a  familiar  context  it  was  every 
thing.  It  was  the  long-sought-for  confir 
mation.  The  line  connecting  Freewill 
Pinquit  with  the  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 
was  complete. 

18  273 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

They  had  no  eyes  to  note  an  inde 
finable  difference  between  this  page  and 
those  near  it,  a  variation  of  tint,  a  suf- 

'  J  O 

gestion  of  newness  which  was  not  coun 
teracted  by  the  rough  discolored  edge  or 
the  antiquated  form  of  the  letters.  There 
was  no  suspicion  of  an  objectless  deceit 
to  clarify  their  observation.  Over  and 
over  on  their  way  home  they  dwelt  on 
every  confirmatory  detail  of  the  outline 
that  had  just  received  this  keystone  of 
testimony.  Mr.  Pinquit  reminded  his 
daughter  where  he  had  found  this  clue, 
where  that  revelation  had  first  dawned 
upon  him.  He  could  now  complete  the 
work  of  his  life,  the  family  genealogy, 
which,  with  every  refinement  of  typo 
graphical  elegance,  he  would  soon  give 
to  the  world.  Again  and  again  Freewill 
referred  to  the  careful  notes  she  had  made, 
and  congratulated  him  on  having  held 
back  from  print  until  the  page  should 
sparkle  with  the  name  of  the  Chevalier 
Saint  Agar.  Neither  of  them  would  have 
274 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

found  it  easy  to  formulate  a  further  wish 
for  temporal  benefits.  The  elation  of 
his  spirit,  as  well  as  her  own  felicity, 
prevented  Freewill  from  realizing  her 
father's  exhaustion  as  they  alighted  from 
their  carriage,  and  also  convinced  the  other 
members  of  the  family  that  the  excursion 
had  been  of  actual  physical  benefit  to  him 
as  well  as  of  supreme  satisfaction.  Ruella 
watched  them  come,  and  a  look  of  slight 
apprehension  vanished  from  her  eyes,  giv 
ing  place  to  one  of  gleaming  pleasure  as 
she  watched  her  grandfather's  figure,  more 
erect  than  usual,  pass  up  to  his  room, 
followed  by  her  Aunt  Freewill,  in  whose 
thin  cheeks  burned  a  pale  flush  of  triumph. 
But  the  apprehension  came  again.  It  was 
the  last  time  she  watched  him  go  up  the 
stairs,  his  wrinkled  hand  slipping  slowly 
along  the  colonial  rail.  The  chill  of  the 
country  church,  the  fatigue,  possibly  the 
relaxation  of  long-desired  achievement, 
combined  to  produce  fatal  illness.  Up  to 
the  last  moment  he  labored  transiently 
275 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

and  feverishly  towards  the  completion  of 
his  great  work,  and  when  he  died  he  left 
it  as  a  sacred  duty  to  be  performed  by  his 
daughter  with  a  proud  and  tender  enthusi 
asm.  Two  or  three  days  before  his  death 
Ruella  slipped  quietly  into  his  study  to  see 
how  he  fared.  Through  the  open  door 
leading  into  his  bedroom  she  caught  the 
weak  accents  which  had,  nevertheless,  a 
strength  of  their  own,  the  strength  of  an 
impassioned  fervor. 

"  My  daughter,"  the  old  man  said, 
"  you  will  not  let  our  work  be  pushed 
aside  for  other  things !  It  has  cost  me 
such  labor,  such  patience,  such  sacrifice 
—  you  will  not  forget  this  ?  " 

"  No,  father,"  answered  Freewill. 

"  But  they  brought  triumph  at  last  — 
it  is  really  so  —  there  can  be  no  doubt 
now  —  Malvina  Dunstable  did  marry 
Joseph  Ranard  —  it  was  there  ?  —  I  did 
not  dream  it  ?  "  he  broke  off  to  ask,  with 
sudden  tremulous  fear. 

"  Yes,  yes,  it  was  there." 
276 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"  All  that  was  necessary  —  that  one 
entry  —  you  will  find  the  proof  on  page 
102  —  you  know  the  book  —  and  you 
will  not  fail  —  I  know  you  will  not  — 
the  hard  work  is  all  done" — and  Ruella 
slipped  quietly  out  again. 


Two  weeks  after  her  father's  death 
Freewill  sat  in  his  study,  his  books 
about  her,  and  before  her  a  blank  sheet 
of  paper  waiting  for  the  fine  tracery  of 
her  clear  handwriting  which  should  set 
forth  her  claim  to  the  blood  of  the  Cheva 
lier.  She  had  laid  on  one  side  a  sheet 
which  bore  the  statement  of  her  father's 
parentage,  birth,  marriage,  and  death,  pre 
pared  by  his  own  hands  months  before  — 
all  save  the  date  at  the  very  end,  which 
she  had  just  filled  in.  Her  black  dress 
increased  the  dignity  of  her  pale,  aristo 
cratic  features,  and  her  eyes  bore  the 
277 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

traces  of  tears,  but  there  was  resolution 
in  their  glance,  and  even  in  the  grasp  of 
the  delicate  hands,  as,  holding  a  note-book 
open  before  her,  she  took  up  her  pen  to 
write. 

"  Aunt  Freewill,"  said  Ruella,  and  Miss 
Pinquit  laid  her  pen  down  again.  There 
was  a  tremor  in  the  ordinarily  gay  and 
confident  tones  of  the  girl  standing  before 
her  that  instantly  called  back  her  attention 
from  the  precious  Past. 

"  What  is  it,  Ruella  ? "  she  asked. 
Ruella's  eyes  glanced  over  the  table,  the 
note-book,  the  papers,  and  then  to  her 
aunt's  face. 

"  What  —  what  are  you  doing  ?  "  she 
asked  with  an  effort. 

"  I  am  going  to  copy  and  amplify  the 
last  notes  made  by  your  grandfather  — 
those  that  prove  the  claim  complete  with 
the  link  he  and  I  found  at  Aspetuck.  It 
is  a  line  to  be  proud  of,  Ruella,"  she 
added,  while  she  wondered  at  her  niece's 
loss  of  color. 

278 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  girl 
miserably,  walking  away  to  the  window, 
leaning  her  head  on  the  sash  and  looking 
out  with  unseeing  eyes.  "  Oh,  I  don't 
know,"  she  said  again,  as  she  wandered 
back. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ruella  ?  What 
has  happened  ?  "  and  her  aunt  turned  to 
face  her. 

"  Oh,  that  is  it  —  nothing  has  hap 
pened,"  she  burst  out,  and  then  sank  at 
her  aunt's  feet  in  a  flood  of  weeping. 

"  Nothing  has  happened,"  repeated 
Freewill  in  utter  perplexity. 

"  No,"  sobbed  Ruella.  "  There  was 
not  anything  on  the  records  of  that  church 
in  Aspetuck.  Percy  Maynew  put  it  there. 
I  begged  him  to.  He  did  n't  want  to 
exactly,  but  I  made  him.  I  told  him 
it  was  only  a  question  of  pleasing  you 
and  —  and  grandfather.  I  did  n't  know 
it  made  so  much  difference.  I  just 
thought  it  would  be  something  you  'd 
279 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

like.  And  now  you  're  going  to  put 
it  in  a  book.  He  made  me  promise  to 
tell  you.  And  I  'm  so  sorry  —  I  'm  so 
sorry  !  " 

Miss  Pinquit  looked  down  at  the  bent 
head  and  then  at  the  books  and  pamphlets. 
Mechanically  she  leaned  forward  and 
closed  the  note-book,  and  pushed  the 
blank  paper  away.  There  was  no  record 
in  the  Aspetuck  church ;  then  there  was 
no  Dunstable-Ranard  marriage,  and  no 
connection  with  the  Chevalier  Saint  Agar, 
and  to  that  time  of  England's  splendor 
and  the  great  protectorate,  she,  Freewill 
Pinquit,  and  her  father  had  nothing  to  say. 
Her  eyes  fell  on  the  statement  of  her 
father's  death.  "  Died  "  —  two  weeks 
ago.  Thank  God  for  that.  Ruella  raised 
her  tear-stained  face. 

u  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  repeated.     "  And 
I  did  it  to  please  you  —  that  was  the  only 
reason.      I    did  n't   care   a  bit   about   it  — 
for  myself.      But   it    seemed  so  hard  that 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

you  should  be  disappointed  again.  It  was 
just  to  please  you." 

Freewill  regarded  the  girl  with  a  bitter 
little  smile.  How  like  her  mother  she 
was,  after  all  —  not  much  Pinquit  about 
her.  She  drew  her  dress  away  and,  in 
her  turn,  walked  across  the  room,  leaving 
Ruella  a  wretched  little  heap  on  the  floor. 
She  went  to  the  bookcase  and  laid  her 
hand,  as  her  father  had  laid  his,  on  the 
shelf  before  the  row  of  books  that  treated 
of  the  period  they  both  loved.  Slowly 
she  read  the  titles  one  by  one ;  she  even 
took  one  down  and  opened  it  —  the  page 
had  lost  that  gleam  that  had  seemed  to 
reflect  itself  in  her  father's  eyes  —  that 
gleam  from  the  stainless  glory  of  the 
Chevalier  Saint  Agar.  It  was  but  a  dry 
record,  after  all.  She  closed  the  volume 
and  turned  back  to  her  niece. 

u  It  was  very  cleverly  done,"  she 
said. 

"  Oh,  I  know  it,"  wailed  Ruella.  Miss 
281 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

Pinquit  did  not  smile  this  time,  neither 
did  she  go  back  to  where  she  waited. 
Instead,  she  went  on  to  the  window  and 
opened  it.  What  a  petty  deceit  it  had 
been !  What  a  bit  of  schoolgirl  and 
schoolboy  trickery !  —  and  yet  it  had 
succeeded.  It  had  been  a  torch  to  her 
father's  sacred  enthusiasm,  a  crown  to 
her  long  and  patient  labor.  The  stern 
love  of  truth  that  was  a  part  of  her  Puri 
tan  inheritance  flamed  up  against  the  lie, 
the  keen  strength  of  her  habit  of  thought 
spurned  its  futility.  It  were  as  well  for 
Ruella  not  to  disdain  her  Tory  ancestor. 
She  too  was  a  renegade  from  the  family 
religion.  Without,  it  was  just  such  an 
other  day  as  that  in  which  they  had  driven 
to  Aspetuck.  The  summer  sparkled  and 
shimmered  in  the  pulsing  activities  of  a 
beautiful  present.  Suddenly,  as  she  heard 
Ruella  crying  quietly  behind  her,  she  felt, 
rather  than  saw,  her  kinship  to  it,  and  her 
utter  lack  of  comprehension  of  anything 
282 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

colder,  subtler,  and  retrospective.  She 
came  back  to  Ruella  and  stood  beside  her 
a  moment,  and  then  sat  down  again  and 
drew  one  of  her  hands  away  from  before 
her  face. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  said,  with  a  certain 
indifference,  "  he  never  knew,  and  it  did 
make  him  happy,  and  —  he  may  have  met 
the  Chevalier  before  this  —  who  knows  ? 
—  and  have  heard  even  better  things  than 
this  that  you  planned  to  please  us." 

"  But  you,  Aunt  Freewill ! "  cried 
Ruella.  "  But  you  !  Will  you  forgive 
me  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Pinquit.  "  I  forgive 
you.  I  am  glad  you  did  not  let  me  pub 
lish  it,"  and  she  glanced  at  the  pen  and 
paper  with  an  odd  feeling  of  reminiscence. 
"  Perhaps  I  needed  the  discipline,"  she 
added  dryly.  Ruella  threw  her  arms 
around  her  neck. 

"  You  don't  need  anything  !  "  she  ex 
claimed.  "And  all  the  Chevaliers  Saint 
283 


The  Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

Agar  in  the  world  could  n't  make  you  any 
better !  " 

Miss  Pinquit  winced  a  little  as  she 
gently  withdrew  from  her  niece's  impul 
sive  embrace  —  the  wound  was  too  recent 
to  bear  touching. 

After  Ruella  had  gone,  she  sat  a  few 
moments  in  quiet  thought,  and  then  she 
selected  from  the  material  about  her 
several  sheets  of  memoranda,  tore  out  a 
leaf  from  one  and  another  note-book, 
read  over  some  pages  of  her  father's  trem 
ulous  but  distinct  handwriting,  and  with 
a  sigh  added  them  to  the  rest.  Striking 
a  match  she  knelt  down  before  the  empty 
summer  hearth.  As  the  flame  caught  one 
bit  of  paper  after  another,  she  watched 
them  flash,  curl,  smoulder,  and  at  last  fall 
into  a  few  gray  ashes.  Had  a  different 
woman  been  kneeling  there  and  the  ashes 
been  those  of  letters  once  warm  with  a 
lover's  devotion,  perhaps  her  heart  would 
have  known  no  sharper  pang  than  that 
284 


The   Chevalier  Saint  Agar 

which  pierced  Freewill  Pinquit's  soul  as 
she  saw  vanish  into  nothingness  these  last 
evidences  of  a  grand  passion,  the  only 
records  of  her  descent  from  the  Chevalier 
Saint  Agar. 


285 


Annie  Eliof  s  Stories 


A 

CHRISTMAS   ACCIDENT 

And  Other  Stories 

By  ANNIE  ELIOT  TRUMBULL 

One  'volume,  I2mo,  cloth 
PRICE,  $1.00 


Her  handling  of  the  persons  of  her  imagination  is  exqui 
site.  —  Hartford  Post. 

The  reader  will  enjoy  the  wit,  the  delicate  satire,  the 
happy  bits  of  nature  description.  —  Sunday  School  Times. 

The  reader  will  be  struck  most  with  her  spontaneity  and 
with  a  certain  quality  of  unpretentious  humor.  — Morning 
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They  are  New  England  stories,  and  exhibit  a  delicate 
comprehension  of  many  types  of  New  England  character. 
They  are  delightfully  readable,  and  the  book  ought  to  be  a 
favorite.  —  The  Congregationalist. 


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and  put  into  serviceable  shape.  —  Boston  Traveller. 

As  a  contribution  to  folk-lore  and  as  a  source  of  infor 
mation  and  enjoyment  to  the  many  who  may  never  have 
seen  this  matchless  river,  as  well  as  a  legendary  guide,  this 
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The  magicians  and  maidens,  the  knights  and  sprites,  and 
all  the  many  members  of  the  myriad  unseen  community 
with  which  the  imagination  of  the  poets  of  all  ages  has 
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Miss  Colt  on"  s  Switzerland 


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BY  JULIA  M.   COLTON 

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Christian  Work. 

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Mrs.  Burton  Harrisons  Greater  Ne<w  York 


EXTERNALS 

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MODERN    NEW   YORK 

BY  MRS.  BURTON  HARRISON 

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Dr.  Eaitershair  s  Short  Sermons 


INTERPRETATIONS 

OF 

LIFE  AND   RELIGION 

BY 

REV.  WALTON  W.  BATTERSHALL,  D.D. 

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in  favor  of  sermonic  brevity.  —  The  Evangelist. 


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A     000  549  957     9 


